


Only mostly dead

by orphan_account



Series: The Hero With a Thousand Faces [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bounty Hunters, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Doubling down on my happy ending promise, Ethical Dilemmas, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake Character Death, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Fighting or Fucking? Who even knows anymore?, Fluff and Angst, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jango has a competence kink, Jango's not fooling anyone, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Needs a Nap, Obi-Wan-Wan is the Most Tired, Order 66, Possibly the worst attempt at courtship ever, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sith are the absolute worst, Snark, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Two dads and their four million kids fix the galaxy, because I know you won't believe me rn...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 137,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “We’re going to kidnap a Jedi?” Boba sounds far more excited by the prospect than most twelve-year-olds probably should. And, because he’s Jango’s boy, because he’s too kriffing smart for his own good, he catches on way too quickly. “Wait. Are we kidnappingyourJedi?”ON HIATUS
Relationships: Boba Fett & Jango Fett, Boba Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & CT-7567 | Rex
Series: The Hero With a Thousand Faces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703374
Comments: 3486
Kudos: 4368
Collections: Fics I Want to Linger On





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's my birthday and all I wanted was dumb boys (who aren't at all in love) so I wrote it.
> 
> I had far too much fun reading your comments to Hero with a Thousand Faces so here, have a sequel.

All-out war across the Galaxy creates a profitable environment for an enterprising bounty hunter like Jango Fett.

Or it would, once upon a time. 

He’s absolutely, one hundred percent supposed to be dead. More than that, he’s retired. He drinks tea every morning while watching the holonews and teaches his pre-teen how to build his own armor. He's adopted - or been adopted by - a baby tooka.

He has a _house_. Or something closely resembling a house at least: it has a herb garden. He’s never really managed to keep anything in it alive for long, but the damn thing still counts. Last month he built Boba a new bed and taught the kid some new curses in the process - he can strip down the service rig for a star cruiser but no sentient being has a chance of interpreting those kriffing assembly instructions.

Life is quiet and simple and semi-respectable.

So naturally, his skills as a bounty hunter have never been more in demand.

He still has friends in the Guild, or at least people who won’t shoot him on sight, so he stays in the loop. Credits come and go but gossip will always be a valuable currency.

Which is why he gets word of the chit only a few hours after it goes live.

The Guild isn’t stupid enough to get directly involved in the political shit-slinging that’s going down between the Republic - and the Jetiise - and the CIS, and no one is suicidal enough to put a hit on a Jetii High General out there in wide circulation. But Jango’s never really given much of a damn about the kind of jobs he’s taken in the past. He’s on _lists._

And this list, chiming loudly right in the middle of his morning tea, announces to Jango and every other ruthless credit grabbing _beroya_ out there that Jetii Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is worth a cool ten million Republic Credits alive. And half that again dead.

And that? That puts Jango right off his kriffing breakfast.

* * *

“We’re going to kidnap a Jetii?” Boba sounds far more excited by the prospect than most twelve-year-olds probably should. And, because he’s Jango’s boy, because he’s too kriffing smart for his own good, he catches on way too quickly. “Wait. Are we kidnapping _your_ Jetii?”

“ _We’re_ doing nothing,” he says quickly. Boba has school work. What kind of responsible father would he be if he let his kid walk into this kind of clusterfuck at the expense of his education? “You’re staying here.” He can water the damn herbs.

Boba crosses his arms over his chest. He’s a short little shit, just like Jango was at his age. And just like Jango, he gives only a third of a kriff about doing as he’s told. “You know I’ll just follow you.”

Now Jango loves his boy. He has... mixed feelings about the others, but he cherishes every stubborn hair on Boba’s head. But sometimes, times like this, he’s reminded that Boba _is_ him, blood and bones. Somewhere, his Buir is looking down on him and laughing his ass off.

“Fine,” he grunts, acquiescing with less of a fight than he should and not because he _wants_ his boy to meet his... “No firearms.”

Boba’s face lights up and fades in the space of a millisecond. “Aw, _dad_!”

* * *

Getting to Obi-Wan isn't a problem. That stupid, handsome face is the most famous in the Galaxy right now, and while Republic Intelligence does a fairly competent job of keeping the frontline details of the war off the holonet until after the fighting, the same can’t be said for the Jetii’s legion of adoring fans.

It’s like he said: gossip is the currency of the world, and it doesn’t take more than an hour searching the forums to pinpoint his current location.

General Kenobi and the 212th Legion are currently docked at Spaceport 71 for refueling, personnel transfer, and to take on supplies. They’ll be there for forty-eight hours. More than enough time for a rival _beroya_ to make their move. And while it’s not like he thinks any of them are going to get the best of his idiot Jetii, it’s better safe than dead.

Besides, Jango has one considerable advantage at play here.

Two, technically.

* * *

Like any good father trying to teach his young son the ways of the universe, his plan involves using the kid as bait.

It’s easy enough for Jango to move unnoticed through the station security points - he leaves one of the kids trussed up and unconscious in a service closet and slips into armor that fits like a glove - but a quick check at the ship's manifest makes it clear that there aren’t supposed to be any cadets either on the famed Negotiator or the station.

Fortunately for both of them, Boba has inherited all of Jango’s looks and only a mild version of his scowl. He’s downright adorable when he sets his mind to it and they make that work for them. With Jango well concealed, he lifts Boba up onto his hip, lets the boy wrap both arms around his neck and marches with purpose towards the room he knows will be Obi-Wan’s.

The ship is exactly as he remembers - a little more scratched and dented in places - but he knows the halls like the backs of his hands. With no hesitation in his walk, and with Boba suitably wide-eyed and frightened-looking, every clone they pass gives them a carefully wide berth. They all know a cadet isn’t supposed to be here, so either Boba is lost or AWOL. Either way, none of them want to get their vod’ika in trouble.

Jango has no kriffing clue where they’ve gotten that softhearted tendency from. None at all. Poor little shits.

At the General’s cabin, Jango raps sharply on the door. He’s ready with an excuse if Obi-Wan isn’t alone, and he’s ready with a sedative if he is, and he’s...

... oh, he’s _not_ ready for the warm, familiar voice that calls, “Enter,” from the other side of the door.

Too kriffing late now.

The door opens, giving him entry to a space that’s somehow completely impersonal and get entirely _Obi-Wan._ His... his... _target_... is sat at a small table in the middle of the room, surrounded by stacks of projectors, holodisks, and datapads.

Obi-Wan himself looks exhausted and hurt and thin, a shadow of the bright, vibrant teenager he fell in love with. He doesn’t even resemble that sanctimonious shit he encountered back on Kamino.

But he’s still the same soft-hearted, gentle bastard Jango remembers, his eyes falling on Boba before he rises and circles around the table.

He doesn’t immediately run Jango through with his saber, punch him in the face, curse at him _or_ cry _,_ and Jango isn’t disappointed, he’s not.

He’s a little disappointed. So much for Obi-Wan’s beloved Force revealing Jango’s true identity to him. So much for that cosmic, soul-crushing, kingdom destroying _love_ Satine used to sing of. It’s not like Jango ever believed in it.

“Are you lost, young one?” Of course Obi-Wan knows Boba shouldn’t be here. Of course he sounds _worried_.

Jango sets Boba down and the boy lifts his wobbling chin up at the concerned Jedi. Obi-Wan raises a cautious hand, touches the boy’s cheek with abject gentleness, and goes pale.

He looks up at Jango, then back at Boba.

Then _back_ at Jango. “Can you - will -” he clears his throat and shakes his head. “Please remove your helmet.”

The game’s up then. This is it.

Two years since Geonosis. Thirteen years since he last had Obi-Wan in his arms.

Fifteen since he last let himself _love_ the infuriating Jetii.

His helmet comes off. He meets Obi-Wan’s gaze unflinchingly.

And of all the possible reactions Obi-Wan might give, the last thing Jango is expecting is for him to smile softly, laugh, and says, “Cody’s right: I _do_ have a concussion.”

Jango’s heart skips a painful beat. If Obi-Wan is injured then that explains why he looks so ill, and why he didn’t immediately try and throw them out of an airlock. It doesn't explain why he's _working_. Stubborn, foolish, softhearted, self-sacrificing -

Boba turns his face from Obi-Wan and up to Jango. “I thought you said he was smart?”

“For a Jetii,” Jango protests.

Obi-Wan manages to look almost affectionate, though he’s still blinking at Jango with wide, bewildered eyes. “Well, now that does _sound_ like something he’d say.”

Jango lets out a disgruntled grunt. “We’re not kriffing hallucinations. How are you so shit at taking care of yourself?”

“Occupational hazard?” Obi-Wan shrugs. “I’d offer you tea but you’re clearly a figment of my imagination; in which case you’re non-corporeal, or semi-corporeal at least, I’m not entirely certain how these things work.” Boba obligingly pokes him sharply in the leg. “Oh.” Obi-Wan says a little faintly. “Well, in that case, I shall make you tea and kindly request that you choke on it.”

Jango grins. Now there’s his _tracinya._ “Gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re angry with me.”

“Really? What could possibly give you that impression?”

“You did fake your death?” Boba offers with an innocent shrug.

“And yet that is by far the least idiotic thing your father has ever done,” Obi-Wan snaps.

Oh, here we go...

“If this is about Nar Kreeta-”

“This is not about Nar Kreeta, though now you mention it-”

“I apologized for that!”

“This is _not_ about Nar Kreeta!”

“Maybe we could save this for _after_ the actual kidnapping part of the mission?” Boba asks, looking at the door to the room as though he’s expecting someone to burst right through it any second. Which is entirely possible.

Of course, Obi-Wan rounds on Jango, fire and damnation and utter fury in his eyes and _kriffing hells_ Jango wants to kiss him. “That’s why you’re here? _To kidnap me?”_ The furious string of insults that follow is, blessedly, not in a language Boba has learned yet. He’d like to keep some dignity in front of the boy, something that’s getting harder to maintain the angrier Obi-Wan gets. Little gods, but he’s beautiful when he’s mad. Even now. After all these years.

“Lesson fifty-three,” Jango says to Boba. “Don’t tell your target you’re planning on abducting them until _after_ you’ve drugged them.”

Which is when Boba flashes him a wide grin and holds up the empty hyponeedle he dosed Obi-Wan with when poking him in the leg. "It's not a firearm!"

Sweet, merciful gods, but he’s proud of the kid.

Obi-Wan’s next insult is unfortunately in Mando’a. Boba snickers. And Obi-Wan promptly pitches forward into Jango.

“Time to go, Jet’ika,” Jango says, shoving his shoulder under Obi-Wan’s arm and hauling him up against his side. He’s not unconscious, but he’s well and truly out of it, warm and mostly limp in Jango’s arms.

Not how Jango’s imagined their reunion might go.

Or would’ve. If he had. Which he hasn't.

Obi-Wan curses him again, his voice whisper soft and almost sad.

“Are Jetii allowed to swear?” Boba asks curiously. Obi-Wan answers with a chain of insults that would make a pirate blush. “Wow.”

“Don’t repeat any of those,” Jango says sternly. “Ever.”

“You left me,” Obi-Wan then slurs, his eyes finally closing as the dose fully kicks in.

“Pretty sure it was the other way around,” Jango says, childishly getting the last word with an unconscious man. He braces Obi-Wan against his side as he slips his bucket back on, then lifts him up into his arms.

“He’s gonna be real mad when he wakes up,” Boba points out.

Jango’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Time to go,” he says instead. “Ready?”

Boba nods, serious and focused once more on the mission. In time, he’ll be better than Jango could ever hope to be. Racing down the hall in front of them, his loud calls to clear the way send troops diving to the side, clearing a path for Jango to run, Obi-Wan in his arms, all the way to medical.

Where chaos awaits, the medbay right in the middle of a full restock. Jango knows all the actual medics are on the upper deck overseeing the transfer of injured patients from the Negotiator to Station 71’s own medical facilities. He knows because he’s already checked.

So when the junior troopers in the medbay see their unconscious General, all Jango has to do is summon all his authority and shout orders - with a voice they know as well as their own - until they scatter in search of someone high ranking enough to deal with the situation.

They’ll all get raked over the fire for it. Might even get decommissioned. He’d feel bad for them if they weren’t damn near participating in Obi-Wan’s abduction.

The last one leaves and Boba tips over one of the supply crates that’s waiting to be unloaded.

Jango is careful when he lowers Obi-Wan inside.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t die,” Boba says brightly, climbing in after him. It’s a tight fit for the two of them, but his boy’s not scared.

The lid closes. Locks.

And, with a spring in his step and activation of the levitation field, Jango propels the crate forwards and strolls right off the ship with the Republic’s most valuable military asset.


	2. Chapter 2

By now, most of the GAR is used to Anakin’s volatile tempers. The 501st know how to read the warning signs and know how best to avoid his wrath. They think he doesn’t know about the betting pool they have on just how and when the next outburst will come, but he does, and he’s been planning on waiting for the best time to fuck with Rex to throw his next tantrum.

Then Obi-Wan has to go and get himself kriffing kidnapped, netting Kix a small fortune in contraband and Anakin the mother of all migraines.

Furious doesn’t come close to covering it, and yet, somehow, he’s _not_ the angriest person on the bridge.

That title belongs to Cody. Obi-Wan’s quiet, serious, stick-in-the-mud, by the books Commander barely has to raise his voice for people to pay attention and is so very much like his General in all the ways that count.

Including this one.

Cody, just like Obi-Wan, when finally tipped over the edge of his famous calm, is utterly _terrifying_.

“What do you mean they ‘ _just took him’_ him?” There’s not a sentient being in the quadrant who can’t hear the scream of furious incredulity that’s quickly followed by a tirade utter disdain and disappointment that’s leveled on everyone from Obi-Wan himself right down to the service droids. Cody includes himself in his outburst because of course he is personally responsible for babysitting Obi-Wan every single second of the day, lest he gives in to some foolish urge to get himself in trouble.

Anakin's never, not _once,_ seen Cody lose his cool. He actually feels a little sorry for Obi-Wan, who is very possibly blameless for a change.

But he’s sure as fuck not putting himself in Cody’s line of sight in order to say so.

He gives Rex a little shove forward. Everyone knows Rex is Cody’s favorite.

And Rex, who has never run from a fight in his life, pointedly and purposefully takes a step _back_ until he’s behind Anakin.

“We thought he was dead, sir!” It’s one of the shinies who finally strikes up the nerve to answer one of the several questions Cody is shouting at the room. If Cody doesn’t kill him, Anakin is nominating the kid for ARC training on the merit of sheer balls alone.

“Not dead enough!” Cody snaps. “Someone explain to me how a dead man managed to walk off this kriffing ship with our General and _no one stopped him_.”

Anakin’s seen the security footage and can take a solid guess.

What it doesn’t explain is why. Or how. Or, more accurately, how _who._

 _“_ We’re sure it’s Fett?”

“We’re sure that’s Boba,” Rex grumbles, pointing at the child on screen. “And it’s either a brother, or -”

A father. Well, this is _great_. Anakin and Cody can race to see who gets the first stress-induced aneurysm.

How does Obi-Wan get into these situations? And why does he seem to attract all the crazy ones? The evil crazy ones at that.

 _Is_ Fett evil? Is that why he’s back? To hand Obi-Wan over to the Seppies?

The bacta is still practically drying from the last time those bastards got their hands on him. Sometimes Anakin thinks the Force made Obi-Wan his Master just to prove how truly helpless he is to protect the people he loves. No matter how hard he tries, it never seems to be enough. He’s always too slow, and Obi-Wan always suffers in silence. 

“Sirs! Incoming transmission!”

Obi-Wan’s senior command crew all turn as one to face the holoprojector. The image flickers, then comes to life on Cody’s barked order to accept the connection.

There’s Jango Fett in all his infamous glory, arms crossed over his chest, a stern frown pulling down familiar features.

“Fett,” Anakin feels the growl reverberate in his chest. This is the man his Master _loved_ once. The man who, he’s starting to suspect, broke Obi-Wan’s heart. Who was in league with Dooku and whose first act of resurrection is to kidnap the Republic’s chief military strategist. “Where is he?”

“Somewhere safe,” Fett says coolly.

Anakin is mentally composing all the ways he wants to kill the sleemo, when Cody cuts in. “We want proof of life.” That blistering eruption of rage has quickly cooled to ice-cold fury. Far from finding himself with an ally, Cody and Anakin will likely be in direct competition as to who gets to rip Fett’s spine out.

Fett’s gaze turns contemplative, then the holo fractures and distorts before focusing again on Obi-Wan.

Anakin knows he’s alive - has never doubted it for a second, Obi-Wan’s presence still warm and bright in the Force - but seeing the steady rise and fall of his Master's chest pops a bubble of fear in his heart and reminds him to breathe again.

Given the poor shape Obi-Wan is so frequently left in when in enemy hands, Anakin is pleased to see him looking unharmed. He’s unconscious, but peacefully so, one wrist loosely cuffed above his head to the rail of a cabin bed.

Suspicion turns him cold inside.

Objectively, he knows his Master is attractive. He tries very, _very_ hard not to think of Obi-Wan that way and is grateful he’s been spared the unimaginable trauma of seeing the man he views as a father in anything close to a compromising position in the past. But Obi-Wan and Jango have _history_. They’ve absolutely kissed, as half the Galaxy can attest to, and maybe, possibly, had sex at some point.

Sex and Obi-Wan are not words that even belong in the same quadrant, let alone the same sentence.

“If you hurt him,” Anakin hears himself growl, “if you lay so much as a _finger_ on-”

“If _I_ hurt him?” In what world does Obi-Wan’s kidnapper have any kriffing right to sound so offended? “He had a hairline skull fracture and three cracked ribs before I even set foot on your damned ship! What kind of half-assed operation are you boys running?” The holo moves again, shifting enough to reveal the IV line fastened into the back of his unbound hand. “Consider this his enforced medical leave while you idiots establish the identity of whoever it is put a bounty on his life.”

Anakin startles. “What?”

“Check your intelligence. Someone wants him dead.”

“A lot of people want him dead.” It’s truly impressive in a terrifying way. There are actual lists and Obi-Wan regularly first with a good third of them. Maybe this _isn't_ such a strange turn of events?

“Then you shouldn’t be short of places to start your investigation,” Fett snaps. “Sort your shit out, Skywalker. He’s staying with me until it’s safe.”

And Jango Fett ends the call with both a final scowl _and_ the moral high ground.

Rex turns to Anakin, bucket under his arm, and asks, bewildered, “What the hell is happening?”

Anakin... doesn’t have a kriffing clue how to answer him.

* * *

Already making a beeline for the other side of the sector, Jango ends the holocall with a snort of disgust. He _knows_ he’s trained those kids better, which makes the abject stupidity that’s overtaken them all Skywalker’s fault.

 _If he hurts Obi-Wan..._ what kind of dumbass threat was that? Jango’s literally just proven them all incapable of adequately protecting Obi-Wan. If anything, they should be _thanking_ him.

He glances down at Boba, who has perched silently at the foot of Obi-Wan’s bed with a look of fierce concentration on his young face, and takes a perverse amount of glee in the fact that he can one hundred percent win the ‘ _my kid is smarter than your kid_ ’ argument with Obi-Wan when he wakes up.

Which won’t be for a while.

Any squeamish morality about keeping his captive drugged is easily trumped by the knowledge that Obi-Wan desperately needs time to rest and heal. If he’s awake, he’ll be duty-bound to make inconvenient escape attempts. They’ve run this circuit before: Jango doesn’t have the heart to put a suppressant collar on him, not after seeing how badly it hurt him on Concordia, which means he’ll either have to endure a sleepy, dosed Obi-Wan, or an endless cycle of escape and capture.

He’s a man of honor, dubious though it might be, and refuses to take advantage of the fact that a drugged Obi-Wan is _horribly_ tactile. If he goes down that route he will inevitably end up suffering far more than his captive. So that leaves carbonite storage - which is a solid ‘no’ - or handcuffs.

He’s yet to discover _any_ kind of lock, prison, cuff, rope or chain Obi-Wan _can’t_ escape from. He’s a slippery little shit and if you turn your back on him for a second he’ll be loose and causing someone a headache. Objectively Jango doesn’t mind this too much: the only thing more enjoyable than wrestling with Obi-Wan is wrestling naked with Obi-Wan, but it’s hardly a conducive route to the Jetii taking things easy and resting. 

Maybe in a few days. He’s no doubt Obi-Wan is going to wake up swinging. He’s looking forward to it. Their last fight hadn’t really been fair: he’d had the upper-hand, Obi-Wan too surprised and _hurt_ by Jango’s attack to really put his all into it. This time is going to be different. This time, he’s going to get all the strength, skill and power of a hardened warrior and it’s going to be _beautiful._

Jango's just broken his very carefully cultivated cover to keep Obi-Wan safe. His quiet life is about to go up in smoke. 

So he's kriffing well going to get some fun out of this, one way or another. 


	3. Chapter 3

Eighteen hours. That’s how much peace an industrial dose of somatoll buys them. Obi-Wan isn’t even fully conscious before he’s slipping the cuff and making for the exit. He’s still firmly attached to the IV line that’s battling a serious case of dehydration and there are a good thirty seconds where he stares at it in bewildered confusion. Jango’s been lurking in the corner of the room, almost curious to see how far he actually makes it, and steps in before he can pull the needle right out of his arm.

“Okay, back to bed,” he says, catching Obi-Wan’s fingers in his own before he can hurt himself.

The gesture earns him a look that is both confused and heartbreakingly sweet before beloved eyes narrow and Obi-Wan calls him a name Boba is _never_ allowed to repeat.

“Is that any way to talk to your husband?” Jango asks mildly. He gently lifts Obi-Wan back onto the bed and tucks him under the sheets.

“Worst husband,” Obi-Wan grumbles, falling back under a wave of unconsciousness within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

“You’re hardly a treat yourself, _N’edee.”_ Jango contemplates the cuff, still unsure how he manages to slip out of them so easily, then fastens it back around one limp wrist.

Obi-Wan sighs, presses his cheek more firmly against the pillow, and goes still.

Boba manages to keep a lid on his curiosity for a whole minute before blurting, “You’re _married?”_

Ah. Yes. How to explain that one?

“Sort of,” he says stupidly, vividly recalling the way Obi-Wan is prone to roll his eyes in the face of Jango’s awkwardness.

Boba crosses his arms. “How do you ‘sort of’ marry someone?”

“It was for a mission,” Jango explains, brushing a strand of auburn hair back from Obi-Wan’s brow. His skin is still too clammy and far too pale for Jango’s liking, but his fever has broken. “Back before Kamino.” As far as he’s concerned, that’s detail enough. Boba clearly doesn’t agree, tapping his damn foot in the kind of impatient way that will absolutely delight Obi-Wan. “I was hired to find a woman who went missing at some fancy spa retreat on Stasia. I knew I’d attract the wrong kind of attention if I went alone, so I reached out to the Jetiise. I’d worked with Obi-Wan and his Master Qui-Gon Jinn before.”

He doesn’t mention that by that point whatever relationship he might’ve dreamed of having with Obi-Wan had been shot out of the sky by the kriffing Jedi Code. They’d begun the mission with a clear framework of professionalism: Jango had a job to do and Obi-Wan worried his soft little heart about people in trouble. It was only pretend, an act.

He also doesn’t mention that his intentions lasted all of an hour before he took full advantage of the situation, kissing Obi-Wan in public and teasing him relentlessly right up into that famous Jedi self-control snapped and they’d had some _very_ athletic sex in the honeymoon suite.

And he definitely doesn’t mention the fact that Jango, sex drunk and stupidly in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi, his pretty eyes and pouty mouth and infuriatingly stubborn kindness, had then gone and asked Obi-Wan to marry him for real.

The worst part wasn’t the rejection: he’d lived through it once already and the scars were thick enough to cushion some of the blow. No, the worst part was looking in Obi-Wan’s eyes and _knowing_ that he wanted to say yes.

Fortunately, they were both attacked by cultists five minutes later, saving them from the most awkward conversation in history. They’d killed the badguys, saved the day and rescued a kriffing cargo load of missing tourists. Then Jango left.

They saw each other once more a few years later, fate _hating_ Jango and their eyes meeting across a rowdy bar in some Corelian’s shithole. That interaction had _not_ been safe to recount to twelve-year-old ears and waking up the next morning to a broken nose courtesy of Qui-Gon Jinn was hardly his favorite memory.

Then nothing. Until Kamino. Everyone knows how _that_ played out.

If Jango were a man prone to self-examination he’d admit that he’s fully committing to the role of devilishly dashing and morally ambiguous rouge purely _because_ it will drive Obi-Wan mad.

His anger, Jango can take.

His apathy, less so.

Boba makes one of his soft little ‘hmm’ noises as if to say he’s well aware of the fact that he’s missing several important details, but settles his need to drive his poor dad into a well of embarrassment in favor of shaking his head at Obi-Wan.

“So how many times is he going to try escape before we get home?”

Jango frowns, thinking, then says, “My credits are on six.”

He’s nearly right.

* * *

There are three more heavily drugged attempts within the following four hours. Each one ends with Obi-Wan face-planting on the floor.

“You should really stay in bed,” Boba says, helping Obi-Wan up after the third attempt. “You look like shit.”

“Boba,” Jango snaps. “Language. He’s not wrong though.”

It seems to take Obi-Wan a considerable amount of effort to focus on Jango’s face. “You,” he says, the words carefully enunciated to balance his endearing lack of coordination, “are a lying, no-good, stupid, handsome _asshole_.” He makes a solid attempt to poke Jango in the chest before his legs give out and he’s leaning entirely on Boba.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, _N’edee,”_ Jango snorts. “Careful, Kenobi, people might think you still like me.”

“Nope,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, popping the final _p_ in a way that sends Boba spiraling into giggles.

He’s a nice guy, so he takes pity on the kid and pulls Obi-Wan into his arms. It leaves them eye to eye and only inches apart, Obi-Wan’s hands braced on his shoulders, and this is a _terrible_ idea. “Hi,” he grins, fighting the urge to kiss Obi-Wan’s frowning mouth.

“Ugh,” Obi-Wan says.

“You’re not gonna kiss, are you?” Boba asks, his nose wrinkling.

“Got a problem if we are?” Jango asks the kid.

“Not _really_ ,” Boba shrugs. “He’s okay I guess. For a Jetii.”

“Well now I have your official stamp of approval -” Jango teases, enjoying himself and the feel of his hands on Obi-Wan’s waist _far_ too much.

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan cuts in. “Do I get a say in this?”

Jango’s answer to that is to lean forward just a fraction, a single heartbeat of space, and press their foreheads together. Where he’s from, it’s as intimate a kiss as anything else they’ve shared.

Obi-Wan allows it. More, he sags against Jango’s chest, the soft puffs of his breath warming his cheek.

For a second there is perfect harmony in the world. He’s content with this, he is...

...only he aches to remember the taste of Obi-Wan’s lips. He wants to know how his beard will feel against his skin. He wants _more_.

Obi-Wan, whose eyes have fluttered closed, freezes the desire in place. “If you _kiss_ me,” he says slowly, “I will stab you in your stupid face.”

Boba snorts. Jango deflates. And Obi-Wan passes out on his shoulder.

Who said romance was dead?

* * *

That soft, tender sleepiness lasts another two hours.

The next time Obi-Wan wakes, there’s straight up _murder_ in his eyes.

“I’m gonna go... not be here,” Boba stammers, backing away for the door the moment Obi-Wan starts sits up and starts to growl. “Call me if he kills you!” The door slides closed and now there will be no witness to the bloodshed.

That’s probably a good thing, really.

They’re not on a direct route back, hopping from hyperlane to hyperlane on the offchance they’re being followed. It means there’s at _least_ another day to go.

Kriffing Jedi and their stupid Force assisted metabolisms.

“Morning, sunshine,” Jango says cheerfully. The longer he ignores Obi-Wan’s obvious desire to strangle him, the more annoyed he’ll be. It’s a win/win. “You are literally the worst patient ever. You should still be unconscious.”

“You,” Obi-Wan snarls, “are supposed to be _dead_.”

“Surprise?”

“This isn’t funny!" Obi-Wan shouts, his eyes suspiciously bright. "I _grieved_ for you!”

Jango’s about to point out that he’s _not_ laughing, but that last part stops him and the boulder in his chest grows a size. “Thought you Jedi were supposed to be above petty mortal things like grief? We’re all part of some mystical bantha-shite, right? Thou must not get attached blah blah-”

Obi-Wan pointedly tugs at his cuffed wrist. “Do you seriously want to argue philosophy while I’m chained to a bed?”

“What else would we do with you chained to a bed?” Jango asks, because Jango is _stupid._ “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Sure,” Obi-Wan agrees easily. Too easily. “Mind telling me why you _kidnapped me from my own kriffing ship?”_

“It wasn’t safe” Jango shrugs.

He says nothing else, even as Obi-Wan waits expectantly. When it’s clear he’s not going to get anything more, he throws both his hands in the air - the cuff falling uselessly aside - and shouts, “How exactly is my office _unsafe_ , Jango? Afraid I’ll trip and stub my toe on the desk?”

“It’s not my fault someone wants to kill you,” Jango shouts back. “Now they can’t. You’re welcome.”

Obi-Wan hops lightly off the bed, no indication of his previous unsteadiness, and advances like a stalking predator. “That’s right. Only you’re allowed to do that.”

It’s funny how a decade can pass and not a single thing changes about the way Obi-Wan can make him feel defensive and small. “I wasn’t serious when I said that,” he protests. “Not a hundred percent serious at least.” Maybe eighty percent. He’d been kriffing upset at the time. “Can we go back to people trying to kill you and me saving your ungrateful ass?”

“Force, Jango, people have been trying to kill me since I was twelve. You’ve tried it yourself more than most!”

“Again, I wasn’t being serious! The last time. Maybe the first couple of times but I didn’t know you back then!” He’s pretty sure the number of times they’ve had sex has to cancel out at _least_ three of those attempts.

“That doesn’t explain why you’ve come back from the dead to abduct me from my perfectly safe office aboard a star cruiser with enough firepower to level a dozen cities. Where, I might add, I was surrounded by yet another three Republic cruisers, ninety fighter jets and three hundred thousand of the soldiers that _you trained_.”

“You were in danger,” Jango grumbles.

“The only thing I am in danger of is a murder charge! Honestly, Jango! And you brought Boba into it!” For a second the ire fades from his eyes and he looks incredibly soft and wistful. “He’s getting so tall.”

“I know, right? Kid’s growing like a kriffing Bonshyyyr. And he’s doing really well in his studies -”

And the ire is back. “Don’t change the subject.”

“You changed the subject!”

He’s backed against the wall before he can process Obi-Wan’s movement. It’s rare he uses his Force abilities with Jango outside a fight and for a second he fears that maybe this _is_ too late. He’s left things too long...

“Take me back,” Obi-Wan demands, his voice low and smooth and dangerous and -

He reaches over and brushes his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek, tender and sweet. That age-old conflict flickers back into his eyes and...

... and Jango isn’t a good man, even when he wants to be.

He presses the drugpatch firmly against Obi-Wan’s throat and braces himself against the betrayal that sparks between them.

“Sorry, _kair’ta_ ,” he whispers. “But I’d rather live with your hate than your death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N’edee - Jango's nickname for Obi-Wan is a gently teasing way of calling him someone who likes to pick the peaceful solution to a problem. Obi-Wan's nickname for Jango, An’ee, means the opposite. Its the Mando'a version of Looks Like a Cinamon Roll (is Totally a Cinamon Roll)/Looks Like He'll Kill You (Will Totally Kill You).  
> kair’ta - my desperate heart


	4. Chapter 4

No one needs to know just how sentimental Jango feels at the sight of Obi-Wan in his bed.

After spending the rest of the return trip in uneventful peace, it’s still no less a relief to arrive home without any trouble.

The plan is to let Obi-Wan sleep off the last of the drugs, then have a nice, calm, adult conversation. One to be moderated by his pre-teen in the event that one or both of them fail at any of those three requisites.

Until then, he’s been the soul of propriety, dressing Obi-Wan in soft, clean sleep clothes and tucking him comfortably under a thick blanket. No cuffs this time. Just comfort.

And fine, there’s nothing to say he can’t get a _little_ enjoyment out of seeing Obi-Wan sleeping in _his_ bed, in _his_ clothes. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that.

He’s yet to change himself and can’t decide if he’s more or less likely to strike a truce in or out of armor.

“Watch him for me?” He asks Boba, who nods his agreement.

Now Obi-Wan is comfortable, Jango has things he needs to do.

First, he needs to check on the status of the bounty. It’s unlikely the chit’s been recalled, but it happens. Either way, it’s his first step in understanding who issued it in the first place.

Skywalker can handle things on the Republic side, but Jango’s the one with the underworld connections.

Obi-Wan isn’t joking when he says a lot of people want him dead. It’s a kriffing long list.

But Jango’s willing to bet there’s only a limited number with access to the kind of credits that are being offered.

He’s about to put in a holocall when something catches the corner of his eye. There are proximity alarms _everywhere_. Nothing should be moving within a mile of them, but there’s something -

“ _Haar'chak_! _BOBA!”_ He gets a split second to call out a warning and to snatch up his _buy'ce_ before the unmistakably shrill whistle of a concussion grenade sends him slamming into the far wall of his kitchen. He hits the ground hard, takes cover just in time -

A second later, the side of the house explodes into rubble.

He doesn’t wait for the dust to settle. Whoever or whatever caused that explosion has come with serious firepower.

Jango’s in the kitchen. What’s left of it. Access to the rest of the house is blocked by piles of rubble, which means the only way for him to get to the bedroom is _outside_ , via the small courtyard that houses his herb garden and the bikes Boba likes to tinker with.

Great.

Directly into the path of danger works fine for him.

These _shabuirs_ want to bring a fight to his front door?

He owes it to them to be a gracious host.

Pushing through the cloud of dust and smoke, he dodges the first incoming hail of blaster fire and focuses on the movement beyond.

There are at least five of them. Two sentients and three bounty droids.

Aside from the questions that brings, it does confirm something: they’re not kriffing around.

Obi-Wan is in _serious_ danger.

He dives over the fallen pillar, a quick succession of shots taking the two closest _beroya_. The closest droid pushes on, Jango’s presence a mere afterthought as it moves towards its intended target. Jango can’t get an angle to take it down, not without stepping out into the open - and into the line of the second two droids. He’s willing to wait, to bide his time. Then the door slides open and his heart drops out of his stomach.

There’s Boba, blaster raised, doing what Jango’s taught him. Fighting back. _Protecting_ Obi-Wan.

Each of his shots is precise, but they do little against the battle armor of a Bounty-Droid. Jango’s never taught him how to pick apart the weaknesses of their metal counterparts. Maybe one day, but it’s never been the priority. And now it’s going to get his boy killed.

He no longer cares that taking down the droid will leave him unprotected. His _beskar’gam_ can take a beating and Boba is all that matters.

Boba sees him move and cries out. “Dad, no!” His boy is too damn smart for his own good.

Jango smiles grimly and pushes out into the open. He’s not _stupid_ about it, putting three rapid bolts into the small, unprotected joint at the side of the droids head before dropping down into a roll to avoid the blaster fire of the other two.

The threat baring down on his son falls to the ground, sparks and smoke leaking from the side of its head. Jango has no time for relief. He springs back to his feet just as a succession of fire drives him into a sideways dive. He’s completely out in the open and the only way he’s going to survive this is to keep moving until he can get the right angle again.

He darts forwards, preparing to skid under the rotating arms of the droid closest. Then stops, steady and still, as both of them are lifted into the air by an invisible hand and then _crushed._

They land at Jango’s feet in unrecognizable piles of twisted metal.

Spinning around, Obi-Wan has propped himself up in the doorway, one protective hand on Boba’s shoulder, the other outstretched and clenched in a fist.

He’s seen plenty of Jedi fight over the years and killed more than a few, but he’s never seen a move like that before. The fact that Jedi are _capable_ of such raw violence and yet never seem to use it - at least on sentient beings - might actually be the first indication he’s ever seen that they’re not all murdering, baby stealing assholes. That Obi-Wan _isn't_ the exception to the rule.

“So,” Obi-Wan says, “how’s your ‘ _it’s safer with me_ ’ approach going?”

“If you can do that,” Boba demands, speaking before Jango can get the chance, “why haven’t you just killed us and gone back?” It’s a good question, at least from Boba’s perspective. Jango knows the gentle heart that beats beneath a warrior’s ferocity and he knows Obi-Wan would never truly harm either of them. But kriff, he probably shouldn't be as attracted to him right now as he is...

A wry little smile turns the side of Obi-Wan’s mouth upwards. “Your father has gone to an awful lot of trouble to bring me here,” he says, gently patting Boba’s shoulder. “It would be terribly rude not to at least give him the chance to explain why.” Those bright eyes then turn on Jango. “Almost as rude as drugging your houseguests. If you do that again I will liquefy your brain.”

Jogging to their side, Jango briefly touches Boba’s cheek, his heart rate slowly returning to normal now he knows the boy is safe.

“Noted,” he replies. He wants so badly to thank Obi-Wan for protecting his son and yet gets the impression that to do so would be gravely insulting. “How are you feeling?”

It doesn’t escape his notice that Obi-Wan hasn’t tried to stand upright unaided. “Like I’ve been kidnapped and sedated twice in... what day is it?” Boba answers with unconscious buoyancy and Obi-Wan winces. “Yes, that feels about right. I mean it, Fett. I will turn you into a tuber.”

“Can you do that?” Boba asks curiously.

“I’ve never tried it,” Obi-Wan glares at Jango, “but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“No more drugs,” Jango hastily agrees. “We can’t stay here anyway.”

There goes any hope he has of seeing if he _can_ grow willowweed. He’s purposely not looking at the state of his poor herb garden.

“Who did you upset this time?” Obi-Wan asks, gesturing to the bodies. “I should send them a sympathetic holo.”

“They’re not here for us, genius,” Jango rolls his eyes. His first two attempts at helping Obi-Wan upright are batted away as the Jetii recoils like an angry tooka, but he pushes forward and manages to pull one of his arms over his shoulder. Obi-Wan ends up leaning more weight against him than Jango is expecting; the drugs are still clearly doing a number on his strength. “There’s a bounty on your head.”

“A big one,” Boba says brightly.

“I had to get to you before someone else did. That’s why we took you.” Obi-Wan goes from being a begrudging burden to a frozen statue. Jango can’t understand why, not until he meets his eyes and sees a fear in them that he’s _never_ wanted to put there. “No! No, no! To _protect_ you. To keep you safe! _We’re not handing you over.”_

Is that what Obi-Wan thinks of him now? Is that how far he’s sunk in his estimations? Is that... does he not _know_ Jango loves him?

Pulling Obi-Wan around to face him, he cups a jaw that is no longer as smooth as it was the last time he kissed it and tries to infuse every particle of sincerity into his gaze. “I will never let anybody hurt you.”

“Are you including yourself in that promise?” Obi-Wan asks him, his voice whisper soft.

Jango flinches. That should be a kriffing _given!_ How can he even -

“Not to interrupt or anything,” Boba says, his voice breaking in that embarrassing way pre-teens sometimes do when they’re nervous, “but we have more company!”

They take a step away from each other instantly. They’re both far too used to getting shot at to let a twenty-year love affair get in the way of not dying painfully.

Sure enough, a second ship is landing, gangplank already lowering.

Kriffing bounty hunters.

“Where’s my lightsaber?” Obi-Wan demands.

“Like I was really going to bring your stabby glowstick with us!” Jango snaps. “Here-” he thrusts his second blaster at Obi-Wan, who gapes in fury before firing a shot at the first mercenary to leave the ship.

“Can’t you just squish ‘em?” Boba demands, all three of them taking cover in the doorway.

“Yeah, Obi-Wan,” Jango says bitterly, two shots fired and finding homes in the heads of two bounty hunters, “Why don’t you squish ‘em?”

Obi-Wan fires another blast. “I would,” he shouts, “if _someone hadn’t drugged me_.”

“You’re out of magic?” Boba asks, scandalized.

“I am not _out_ of anything - and it’s not magic, honestly Jango, what are you teaching him? - but I’m having a hard time - oh, vape it!” An invisible wave knocks the closest five off their feet. It’s impressive, right up to the point where Obi-Wan looks like he’s about to pass out. “How many _are_ there?” he grumbles.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Jango propels Boba forward and drags Obi-Wan with him.

They make good ground, right up until a sonic grenade falls at their feet and sends all three of them flying backward.

Jango hits the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He doesn’t break anything but something does get rattled in his head.

No kriffing time for that now.

He pushes himself up onto one knee, spots Boba struggling to rise from the middle of blackened, smoking herbs - and Obi-Wan, still and defenseless on the ground between them.

The chit is worth more if he’s dead. A lot more. And a live Jetii is nothing but trouble, everyone knows that.

The closest _beroya_ certainly does. He’s a huge Besalisk, well past two meters tall and four times as wide as Jango. He reaches down, grabs a handful of Obi-Wan’s soft sleep clothes, and draws back his fist.

Jango collides with him at a brutal speed, his jet-powered attack sending them both several feet away from Obi-Wan, who blinks and stirs and moves instinctively towards the sounds of Boba’s groaning.

That huge fist collides with the side of Jango’s head. It makes the shabuir howl in pain as his knuckles collide with unforgiving _beskar_ , the two of them equally off-balance until a lightning-spitting vibrostaff swings down towards his head.

It stops only inches short of his face.

Obi-Wan again, holding back the finishing blow through pure will.

Jango snatches the blade he keeps in his boot, brings it up high and sinks it into the Besalisk’s fleshy neck. There’s a foul stink as he rips the tough skin apart, slicing all the way down to bone. He doesn’t have time to think too much about it. Obi-Wan and Boba almost collide with him as he shoves the body aside and stumbles to his feet.

Boba’s limping and Obi-Wan is trembling from exertion, but a fierce look between them forstalls any conflict in his heart. He reaches down and swings his son up into his arms, picking up the pace as the three of them zigzag out of the range of incoming fire.

Now would be a really great time for Obi-Wan to have that kriffing saber of his. Yes, fine, he _kriffed_ up. 

They just need to make it to the hanger.

Then he can focus on how the kriff these shabuirs _found_ them.

“Obi, wall!” he barks. Obi-Wan’s already following his thought process, and the nice little rock wall he’s built around his garden disassembles itself and showers down on the pursuing _beroya._ It’s the final distraction he needs in order to key a command into his vembrace and open the hanger doors. That deactivates the security stasis and allows him to fire up Slave I’s missile launcher.

No kriffing way is he leaving his home behind for someone to comb through.

They’re in the air less than thirty seconds after boarding. It takes less than half that to turn the _beroya,_ their ships, his house, and his poor kriffing garden into a crater.

After punching in the co-ordinates that will take them to hyperspeed, he’s finally able to take a breath. And then another. “Everyone okay?”

“That was certainly eventful,” Obi-Wan says a little breathlessly. “Boba’s injured.”

“I sprained my ankle,” Boda says, his voice thick with shame. “I think. I’m sorry dad.”

Satisfied they’re safe for now, Jango leaves the controls to crouch in front of the boy. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, ad’ika. You kept your cool and you protected our family. You were brave, and I’m very proud of you.”

He doesn’t think he’s miserly with his praise, but from the way Boba’s cheeks flush and his bright eyes brim over he starts to worry that maybe he _is._

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get that seen to.” He looks up at Obi-Wan, who has settled into the co-pilot’s seat. “Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan promises, and he does look the most aware and coherent he has in a while. “See to your son. I promise not to try to escape.”

He hadn’t even thought about that. Shame floods him. Maybe there _is_ something to be said for communication over conflict? Maybe. On occasion.

All he can do is nod.

There’s not a huge amount of space on Slave I for sleeping quarters, but there is a bunk and that’s where he keeps the medical supplies. He helps Boba settle down, gives the boy a mild sedative to help the pain and isn’t surprised to find him asleep by the time he’s done wrapping his bruised ankle. There’s no break. After a few hours rest, he’ll be fine.

Stepping back into the cockpit, the last of his adrenaline fades away. Boba is safe. Obi-Wan is safe. In a few hours he’ll put a holo call in to Skywalker and chew him a new kriffing asshole. He has no doubt that either he or one of the GAR is the reason Obi-Wan’s location leaked. No one _should_ know how to find Jango, but there’s even less reason for anyone to know Obi-Wan is with him. They’ve been betrayed by someone on Obi-Wan’s team and he is _not_ looking forward to having that conversation. Skywalker is a kriffing fool, but Obi-Wan loves him and is far too easily hurt by that vulnerability.

Jango really needs to include himself in that cat _e_ gory, doesn’t he? So much for keeping him _safe._

The door slides closed in a way that seems to be a metaphor for his whole kriffing life.

But then Obi-Wan is in his arms, frantic and desperate, his heartbeat fluttering wildly under thin skin, his lips against Jango’s and - _oh_. They’re as soft as he remembers, a sharp juxtaposition with the fine tickle of his beard. He pushes back, doesn’t stop to question, just maneuvers them until Obi-Wan’s back hits the console, until he can slide his hands down the strong muscles of lean thighs and hike him up to perch on the edge. Obi-Wan moves with him, the two of them falling back into a dance they know down to their bones. Like the kata he performs so faultlessly, Obi-Wan stays in perfect sync. He wraps his arms around Jango’s back, locks his legs around his waist and holds him firmly in his arms; a trap Jango never wants to escape.

“You’re cold,” Jango whispers, pulling himself reluctantly from the kiss to press their cheeks together. He can see the fine hairs on Obi-Wan’s arm stand on end and feel the chill beneath his loose tunic.

Obi-Wan guides him back, their lips brushing in a tender prelude. “Then do something about it,” he orders.

Jango’s helpless to refuse him. Helpless to disobey.

Obi-Wan wants warmth? Jango will see to it that he _burns_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** Major Palpatine alert. More specifically, it deals with Palpatine sowing seeds of fear in Anakin that will come back to bite everyone in the ass later on. He's creepy and manipulative and while they are only allusions, there are some discussions of non-consensual sexual situations that are intended to be uncomfortable. 
> 
> On a less serious note, Jango does some soul searching and is... less than pleased with his conclusions.

“Forgive me,” Chancellor Palpatine says, his form hovering blue and ethereal from above the holodisk in Anakin’s cabin. “But I must ask: you’re certain Master Kenobi hasn’t defected? I know he and Count Dooku have some kind of shared history...”

Anakin laughs darkly and shakes his head. “Obi-Wan practically bleeds the Republic flag, and he’s _furious_ with Dooku. He thinks the man the worst kind of traitor. Besides, he drilled me so hard on duty and loyalty I can still recite his lessons in my sleep. _I’m_ more likely to turn than he is.” He knows the Chancellor is struggling with the weight of his office and hopes to relieve him of this extra worry. The thought of Obi-Wan going AWOL is ludicrous, and as for him joining the CIS...

Even the Council hasn’t asked that one, and they’ve asked pretty much everything else.

The Chancellor’s downturned mouth flickers into a soft smile of relief. “Of course, Anakin, of course. Forgive me, I would never mean to impune his character.”

“I know, sir,” Anakin assures him. He knows neither Palpatine or Obi-Wan really _like_ each other, but they’ve never been anything but respectful of the other’s position in Anakin’s life. It’s partly why he’s reached out instead of waiting for Master Windu. As Supreme Chancellor, Palpatine is required to be informed of something so monumentally damaging to the GAR, but as Anakin’s oldest friend he can also offer comforting assurance and outside perspective.

“I understand your concern, Anakin, but Master Kenobi has proven himself quite resilient these past few years. I’m sure he’s giving his abductors second thoughts about taking him.”

Anakin wants to believe him, he does, but sometimes he thinks he’s the only one who can see how _tired_ Obi-Wan is. The Senate, the Republic at large, they see General Kenobi at his unflappable, most intimidating best, but Anakin can’t picture anything other than the soft, longing little smile on Obi-Wan’s face as he looked at the holo of him and Fett.

“It’s not that, sir, it’s...” he hesitates, then lets go of his concern. The Council knows and always have and Obi-Wan himself seemed happy enough to talk about Fett when asked. “We know who has him.”

The Chancellor startles. “Have they been in touch? Are they asking for a ransom? It’s not Senate policy to negotiate of course, but I know how much he means to you. If it’s credits they’re wanting-”

The generosity of the offer strikes Anakin hard, his grateful smile far more watery than he likes. “No. No, nothing like that. There’s a bounty on him. We’re tracing its origins now, but-”

“Talk to me, Anakin,” Palpatine encourages softly. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“It’s Jango Fett. The man who took Obi-Wan is Jango Fett.”

He watches the name wash over the Chancellor’s face, first vague recognition, then wide-eyed surprise. “The clone army doner. I was under the impression that he was dead.”

Anakin laughs bitterly. “Yeah, so were we.”

“He’s after the bounty, then?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, it turns out he and Obi-Wan were...” how the _kark_ does he put it? “Intimate. When they were younger.”

“Oh,” Palpatine blinks. “Oh my. Oh, is _that_ what all the kerfuffle on the holonet was the other month?”

“Yeah. Someone leaked a picture of the two of them. Now Fett has Obi-Wan and... and I’m worried.”

“You’re _certain_ Obi-Wan didn’t leave of his own volition? I hate to ask again, but if they were lovers-”

As shameful as it is, the thought has crossed Anakin’s mind. Only for a second. “I’m sure. He... Fett drugged him. And tied him to a bed. He... he showed us.”

Palpatine reaches out a hand as if to put it on Anakin’s shoulder. He can’t, but the gesture makes him ache inside. “You worry for his virtue,” he says slowly. “Oh, my dear boy. I can’t imagine the things you must have seen in your life.” Anakin shudders, thinking of - “And after what happened to your poor mother...” A muffled sob is hastily stifled in the face of the Chancellor's kindness. He's the only one who knows all the details and still he looks at Anakin with affection. "I'm so sorry, Anakin."

Every time he thinks of the softness in Fett’s eyes in that holo, the image is replaced with a hundred and one stories of the bounty hunter's brutality. Jedi killer, they call him. He’s the man so feared, so violent, so skilled, that he was chosen out of a galaxy of wicked men to provide the blueprint for the greatest army in existence. That’s the man who has his Master. That’s the monster holding Obi-Wan drugged and helpless and chained.

And he can’t _help_ but think of his mom. Of what was done to her. The thought of Obi-Wan... of someone _hurting_ him like that...

“Hush, Anakin, it’s alright.” Palpatine’s soothing voice washes over him, drawing him from the dark places in his mind and back to himself. Tears burn his cheeks and he scrubs them away angrily. “You’ll find him, I have no doubt. You are the greatest Jedi alive, my boy, I know you have the power to save him.”

“And if I don’t?” Anakin hates the way his voice trembles.

Palpatine’s eyes are kind. “You already know what will happen if you’re too late.”

Anakin swallows and nods. Yes, he knows.

“But Anakin, you must be careful,” Palpatine cautions. “I believe you when you say Master Kenobi would never turn on us, but it is my experience that most Jedi are not... experienced, in matters of the heart. There are many ways to brutalize a soul, you understand? Master Kenobi might not be able to differentiate between a loving, consensual act and one born of manipulation.”

“What? I don’t understand...” he feels foolish. Childish.

Palpatine doesn’t mock him for it. He’s patient. “If Obi-Wan believes he loves this Jango Fett, he may defend his actions, no matter how monstrous.”

No. No, that’s not possible. No one could defend something like that. Not Obi-Wan. Never Obi-Wan. He’s too kind, too gentle, too... too forgiving. Too naive. Too innocent, perhaps, in what it means to love and be loved.

Anakin knows. He has Padmé. There’s no possible way Jango Fett is capable of that kind of love, and if Obi-Wan has no other frame of reference...

“Then what do I do?”

His old friend’s eyes become incredibly sad. “Then it might not just be Fett you need to save him from. Are you willing to do whatever it takes to protect him?”

Anakin feels his features set, his blood boiling. Oh yes. He’s willing.

No one is taking Obi-Wan from him. No one is _hurting him_. Not if Anakin has any say in the matter.

One way or another, he’s going to kill Jango Fett. Whether Obi-Wan likes it or not.

* * *

There are worse places to fuck.

Better places, and many of them, but this ship is as much Jango’s home as anything ever has been.

Still, the ground is cold beneath his back, rapidly cooling the sweat that clings to his skin. He’s not uncomfortable, or maybe he’s just too satisfied to notice if he is. Obi-Wan is curled at his side, half sprawled on his chest, a furnace of heat that drives away all other thoughts.

“Do you remember Stassia?” Of course he mentions that _now_ , when Jango has little chance of focusing on anything other than the smoothness of skin under his hands and the brush of copper hair that tickles his throat.

“The time with the crazy cult? And the hotel? With the weird bathtub that tried to suck my soul out?”

Obi-Wan’s hand is warm over his heart. There’s not a single part of him that Jango doesn’t adore with every hopeless fraction of his heart, but he does love those hands. The long, elegant fingers of a scholar and the roughly calloused palms of a warrior. They tie together the dichotomy that is Obi-Wan; a pattern of war and peace writ within those capable hands.

Jango runs the tips of his own fingers down each of Obi-Wan’s, delicately tracing each rise and dip.

He knows Obi-Wan enjoys his touch, maybe even craves it. It’s there in the way Jango can only see the thick line of his lashes against his cheeks, eyes closed as he focuses on the sensation. Even then, Obi-Wan is capable of multitasking and incapable of dishonesty. “The time you asked me to marry you.”

Jango’s expecting it and doesn’t flinch with the memory. They’d laid together much like this, limbs entwined, heartbeats pounding. He’d held Obi-Wan then and sworn he could never love anyone or anything as much as he did in that moment. Time’s made a liar of him; there’s Boba now, and somehow his love for Obi-Wan has only grown.

“I remember,” he says softly, shamefully glad they can’t make eye contact.

“You never waited for my answer,” Obi-Wan responds, matching his tone.

“I couldn’t bear to hear you say it,” he admits.

“Say what?” Obi-Wan keeps pushing. When has he ever _not_?

Jango does owe him. For that, and for so many things since.

“No,” he whispers. “I couldn’t hear you say no. It would’ve hurt too much.”

“I wouldn’t’ve said no,” Obi-Wan whispers. No. Jango supposes he wouldn’t. He’s far too kind. Even his first rejection had been a gentle death. “I would’ve told you that I loved you.” Jango closes his own eyes and imagines them back in that moment. He presses the softest of kisses to Obi-Wan’s forehead. “I would’ve told you I loved you,” he repeats, “and you’d’ve told me it wasn’t enough.”

It’s the truth of it that draws tears from his eyes. Back then he couldn’t stomach the idea of sharing Obi-Wan with anyone. Not the galaxy, certainly not the Jedi. Kamino’s changed him. Boba’s changed him. He’s shared himself a million times over. Mostly for money. Partly for Boba. The idea of family was once everything to him, but the reality... being a father has reassembled his head, his heart, and everything in between.

“I’m a fool, _kair’ta_ ,” he breathes, tasting salt on his lips. “A damned fool.”

“ _An’ee,”_ Obi-Wan chuckles, his voice softening with sleep. Adrenaline might burn the drugs from his system but the crash is brutal, and he’s always been quick to find sleep in Jango’s arms. Even here, in the cold cockpit of a ship. “My beautiful, stubborn _An’ee.”_

Jango holds him as he slips under, hugs him tightly to his chest and gives himself this one, perfect moment where he has everything he’s ever wanted. His _ad’ika_ and his _runi._ Together. Safe. Here where Jango can love them and protect them. Where they only need each other.

But where once Obi-Wan’s love alone wasn't enough, the tables have turned. Obi-Wan loves him still, he knows it in his heart, and he loves Boba with the sweet unconsciousness of a man whose first instinct is to cherish. But there’s more.

His duty, ever-present and demanding, is no longer something Jango can stomach trying to take from him. It makes him who is he, every flaw and fault finding perfection in that certainty.

Then there’s Skywalker. Jango only knows the boy through observation and rumor and dislikes him on those facts alone, but he’s Obi-Wan’s boy as much as Boba is Jango’s. _Aliit ori'shya tal'din._ Family is more than blood.

And then, of course, his echoes. Children, just like Boba. Slaves, just like their father once was. He doesn’t regret them, he _can’t_ regret them, and he gave them every weapon in his arsenal, taught them everything he knows, but... but he hasn’t loved them the way he should. Hasn’t been able to live with the idea of forming attachments only to watch them die.

Yet Obi-Wan has. He loves and is loved by his men _,_ that much is clear just from the rage in their faces when Jango informed them of his crime.

Every day since the day Jango left his life behind on the bloody soil of Geonosis, Obi-Wan has lived and worked with them. How many has he watched die? How many have done so in his arms? How many have cried? How many have turned to him for comfort in a world that makes no sense to them?

And so here rests the heart of his love for the infuriating man in his arms. That beating pulse of desire - not to own or possess, to hold or to lay with, but to be _better_. To be _worthy_.

And that means...

Kriffing hells.

It means he needs to take Obi-Wan back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kair’ta - my desperate heart  
> An’ee - affectionate insult - one who likes to pick all the fights  
> ad’ika - child, affectionate  
> runi - soul


	6. Chapter 6

“Run that past me again?” The tension headache Anakin has been nursing for the last few days dials up a notch as Cody and Rex fall into step with him. Cody’s clutching a canteen of caf and has been for a solid forty-eight hours. If he drinks much more he’s going to start vibrating. Rex, on his heels, keeps shooting him worried sideglances.

“Fett’s ship just docked in Bay 12.”

“Fett.” Anakin feels like an echo but needs to be one hundred percent clear he’s hearing right. “Jango Fett?” Why would Fett come _back?_

“One and only,” Cody grunts. “The General is with him. He says he’s ‘ _fine_ ’ and that he’s ‘ _sorry he worried us_ ’.” Well, that sounds like something Obi-Wan wouldn’t need to be prompted to say.

“Why am I only just hearing about this?” Anakin demands, his fury hitting the steady rockface that is Cody and washing aside without damage.

“They landed three minutes ago, Sir,” Cody says, managing to perfectly enunciate a ‘kriff you’ without ever being anything less than one hundred percent professional.

There’s not much Anakin can say to that and so he doesn’t even try, instead storming down towards the hanger bay. Troopers make quick attempts to dive out of his way as he stalks forward and that does nothing for his temper.

Nor does the sight of Obi-Wan standing so casually besides Jango and Boba Fett, the three of them chatting like old pals while they await Anakin’s arrival.

He _wants_ to rush forward and pull his Master into his arms, but settles instead for a stiff, “Obi-Wan,” and a nod.

“Hello, Anakin,”Obi-Wan smiles tiredly. “I’m truly sorry for all the kerfuffle these last few days, but I’m afraid we have a bit of a situation on our hands.” The group fall into formation and make their way towards the bridge - seemingly _fine with_ Obi-Wan’s sudden reappearance and Fett’s still breathing self.

He’s sorry. He’s apologizing for Fett, who is standing there, smug as anything in his armor while Obi-Wan...

Objectively, there’s nothing at all wrong with what Obi-Wan is wearing. His feet are bare, but besides that he’s dressed in loose, causally fitting pants and a simple tunic.

But the tunic is clearly not his, just a touch too big for him in the shoulders, and ripped at the neck. The pale fabric is burnt in places, dirty in others, and there, right above the torn neckline, a livid purple bruise on Obi-Wan’s collarbone.

Stacked against the sheer number of layers and voluminous robes he’s usually swaddled chin to toe in, this casual attire is almost obscene. And it does nothing to assuage Anakin’s fear that Fett has taken advantage of him.

“You have a leak,” Fett says angrily. “We were attacked and the only people who knew he was with me are on this ship.”

“There haven’t been any unauthorized communications,” Anakin shakes his head, meeting Fett scowl for scowl as they step into the lifts. “We’ve been on complete lockdown ever since you absconded with a High General.”

“Then check your authorized ones,” Fett snaps. “Opsec is compromised. You need to do a complete personal sweep.”

“Jango’s right,” Obi-Wan says, a raised hand forstalling Anakin’s protest. “While I _strongly_ disagree with his methods it has brought to light several operational shortfalls. We have a mole, and regardless of _what_ information they are leaking, we need to flush them out immediately.”

“It won’t change the fact that there’s still a bounty on your head,” Anakin points out. “I agree, we need to find who is responsible for leaking classified information, but until we trace the person who took out the hit, it won’t change anything.”

Fett raises his head and very pointedly does _not_ look at Obi-Wan. “I might be able to help with that, actually?”

“Does it involve explosives?” Anakin instinctively cringes from the tone of Obi-Wan’s voice. It only comes out when he’s entirely done with someone - usually Anakin - and it’s dry enough to strip the paint from the hull of a star cruiser.

“Not entirely,” Fett prevaricates. Oh, Obi-Wan must hate that... “The chit’s not being sponsored _officially_ through the Guild, but enough members are on the server list that we can thin out the field. Limit the number of potential hostilities.”

Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully, fingers absently playing with his beard. It draws Anakin’s eye back to that bruise on his throat...

“Yes,” he says, “that could work. It would mean coming out of retirement, so to speak. Are you ready for the impact that will have on you and Boba?”

Boba snorts before Fett can respond. “We blew up our house for you, _di'kutla Jetii,_ ” he says with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Obi-Wan chides gently, “but yes, I take your point.”

Anakin looks to Cody, hoping that he at least will cut in and demand more clarity than either Obi-Wan, the sleemo or the sleemo’s miniature offspring seem willing to provide. Cody doesn’t move, hasn’t moved at all, actually, since the conversation began. Fine. that’s fine. Anakin has to do everything around here anyway.

“You want to fill in the details for those of us who don’t speak Mandalorian?”

“It’s Mando’a, Anakin, and I did try to teach you.” Yes because _that’s_ the important thing right now. He feels himself tensing, anger and frustration curling around him. The annoyance in Obi-Wan’s expression softens - it doesn’t leave - and his familiar warmth in the Force brushes soothingly down the prickly, static edges of his temper. Suddenly, Anakin feels ashamed.

“It’s the best way,” Fett says quietly. “It’ll get anyone who is Guild affiliated off your back.”

“ _How?”_ Anakin demands. As they step onto the bridge there’s a wave of delight at seeing Obi-Wan returned to them. One that’s quickly followed by a careful silence as the troops return to their tasks and try desperately not to appear obvious in their eavesdropping.

“The Bounty Hunter’s Guild has their own rules - and legalities,” Obi-Wan explains. He lowers his hand from his chin and wraps his arms over his chest, fingers clutching his elbows. Usually, that stance is disguised by the voluminous folds of his robes. Without them, it makes him look surprisingly self-conscious. “One of them being that it’s forbidden to issue a chit against a Guild member or their spouse without the approval of at least two-thirds of the Guild Council.”

And that is going to help them how exactly? He lifts his shoulders, a confused hand gesture directed at Obi-Wan that’s met with the pointed raise of one eyebrow.

Oh. Oh.... oh no. No, that’s not a thing. Obi-Wan is _not_ married. He’s not married to Jango Kriffing Fett. He’s not married, _period_.

He’s on the Council! Council members do _not_ marry kriffing bounty hunters. Obi-Wan doesn’t marry bounty hunters. He doesn’t marry the likes of _Fett._

It’s fine. He’s misunderstood, that’s all. The point requires clarification. Something he can ask for calmly and rationally and -

_“YOU’RE MARRIED?!”_

Maybe not.

“Yes,” Fett says, the smug sleemo.

“Not exactly,” Obi-Wan replies at the same time.

“We are,” Fett argues.

“Only technically,” Obi-Wan disagrees. “And only sort of.”

“How can you be _sort of_ married?” Anakin rages.

Boba throws his hands in the air. “That’s what I said!”

“How can you be _only_ _technically_ married?” That’s the first thing Cody’s said all conversation and _wow_. Either he’s blown his voice out shouting at people in the wake of Obi-Wan’s discussion or he’s _seriously_ unhappy with the revelation.

Anakin is going with the latter. It gives him more allies.

Obi-Wan seems to agree. He turns to Cody, his body language soft and gentling. “It was for a mission,” he says.

“Joint operations,” Fett says, and something about the _way_ he says it makes Anakin want to break his face.

Behind him, very softly, Anakin hears Rex whisper, “This is the best day of my _life_.”

Rex is dead to him.

“That’s code for ‘they had a lot of sex’,” Boba says, his gaze fixed challengingly on Anakin.

“Boba!” Both Obi-Wan and Jango snap in sync. Cody, oh so quietly, makes a sound like a strangled womprat.

“Is that what that is?” Anakin demands, pointing at the lurid bruise on Obi-Wan’s throat. “Is that what you were doing while we were wasting valuable time and resources _looking_ for you.”

Maybe the Chancellor _was_ right? Obi-Wan is hardly playing the part of the wounded captive, but is he complicit or has he been victimized? His Master is _impossible_ to read sometimes and this is one of them.

“What two consenting adults do in their own time is really none of your concern,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes.

“He _kidnapped_ you!”

“I never said it was the most romantic of courtships,” he says wryly.

“I can ask the next death squad they send after us to hold a while so we can stop for flowers?” It’s really hard to tell if Jango is being sarcastic or genuine and that’s _terrifying_.

“We have a greenhouse on Deck 12?” The same shiny who won Anakin’s admiration a few days ago quickly loses all his damn points, shrinking back into the console he's seated at when both Anakin and Cody round on him.

“Maybe you can have _sex_ with your _husband_ there,” Anakin spits, snapping his attention back to his Master.

Obi-Wan is _married. Married._ Anakin’s been terrified for his safety... terrified of so many things, and Obi-Wan is _married_.

Fett’s stance shifts from languid and amused to viciously hostile. “Watch your kriffing mouth, kid,” he snaps.

He laughs. Right, because Jango Fett is someone he’s afraid of. “Why don’t you _make_ me?” He moves forwards, his long stride eating up the space between them, only to run into Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand.

“That is _enough!_ ”

Now a few years have passed since he officially left Obi-Wan’s tutoring it’s easy, sometimes, to forget just how _awful_ his anger feels. It’s so rare he ever allows it truly free that Anakin knows just by feeling it that he’s crossed a line. He feels himself shrink, small and stupid and thoughtless like the boy he so often feels he still is and realizes that the rest of the bridge has fallen deathly still.

Boba’s eyes are narrowed hatefully on Anakin and Fett has placed himself in such a way that it looks like he’s _protecting_ Obi-Wan. From Anakin. The discomfort and unease in the troopers has a physical, palpable taste in the air, and Obi-Wan...

Obi-Wan looks mortified. Ashamed. All of the things Anakin has projected on him seem heightened, sharper. He looks small. He looks hurt. Anakin’s done that, not Fett.

He opens his mouth to apologize. He’s _never_ wanted to hurt Obi-Wan. Never. But the words get caught in that hollow, dark place between his heart and his mouth, his mind pointing out that none of this would even be an issue if Obi-Wan hadn’t _lied_ to him.

“Some professionalism, Knight Skywalker, if that’s not too much to ask?” In one cool sentence, Obi-Wan reminds him that they are both Generals, that it’s unbecoming to act so crassly in front of the men, that it’s shameful for a Knight to speak so to a Master...that it’s near unforgivable for a student to address his teacher in such a manner.

“Master,” Anakin inclines his head.

The following beat of silence stretches on to the point of pain, only to be broken by a tired sigh. “Back to the business at hand. Jango, please make contact with the Guild and begin proceedings. I’ll speak to Master Nu at the Temple and see if she has a copy of our marriage certificate in the archives; no doubt they will require proof.”

Fett looks poleaxed. “You kept it?”

The smile that touches Obi-Wan’s mouth is but a fraction. “Unlike Qui-Gon, I file _comprehensive_ mission reports. I included it for posterity. Now. Anakin, if you’d be so kind as to assist Cody in drawing up a list of all external communications since the day of my... the day I left, I would appreciate it. I need to comm the Council and update them on the situation. And find some boots.” He looks rather sadly at his bare toes.

“Yes sir,” Cody says immediately. He doesn’t need Anakin’s help and they all know it. Obi-Wan wants Cody to _babysit him_.

“Jango, try behave yourself,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Boba, you’re responsible for him.” The kid smirks. Brat. “Anakin, please don’t stab anyone until I get back.”

Anakin grunts. He’s making no promises.

“Sir,” Cody addresses Fett, “if you’re able to provide a list of non-guild members you think might be security risks we can start building a profile of their last known whereabouts.”

“Alright, boy,” Jango nods thoughtfully. “I’ll draw it up. See what you can find.”

Obi-Wan is still on the Bridge, caught in the doorway. Anakin doesn’t need the force _or_ his strong connection with his Master to feel the frigid anger than falls like an avalanche on the room.

“You will address these men by their ranks and designations until they chose to allow you the use of their names.” Obi-Wan’s voice is deadly in its softness. “At that point, you will respect the honor that you have been given. You are a guest here, and you will show these men the respect they deserve.”

Rex takes a sharp breath and Cody might’ve stopped breathing altogether.

The whole room waits on a blade’s edge of anticipation, no one knowing who will emerge victorious from this unexpected conflict. Their General versus their... Father? Even Anakin isn’t sure what side it will fall on.

Then Fett, stiff as he has been under Obi-Wan’s reprimand, visibly deflates and a kirffing miracle happens. “Of course. My apologies, Commander. It won’t happen again.”

There’s some small mercy it’s Cody he’s addressing. Only Cody has the sense and wherewithal to bounce back from a blast like that with no outward expression in either direction. He simply nods.

Obi-Wan nods sharply. “I will be back in twenty minutes and I expect results.” It’s rare he’s so abrupt. Rarer still that Anakin has no rebuttal.

Then Rex slides over to Cody, and in a quiet voice asks, “Do you think this is what people mean when they talk about their parents fighting?”


	7. Chapter 7

After hours of playing nice with Skywalker, stopping Boba from terrorizing the junior cadets, and having to watch Obi-Wan be breathtakingly authoritative and unfairly attractive while he works, Jango finally gets the opportunity to speak with him alone. He has to bribe one of the Captains into distracting Skywalker while Obi-Wan returns to his office, and extracts what’s tantamount to a blood oath from his son not to cause chaos in his absence, but manages to slip away unchallenged.

He needs to make it very clear that he’s _not_ sulking.

Obi-Wan’s displeasure is a harsh winter, his disapproval heavy and harrowing. There’ve been times Jango has provoked it, poked the proverbial gundark just to force a reaction. He’s older now, and he _thinks_ he’s wiser, and he knows there’s a world of emotion under that serene surface. He doesn’t need to force it out to know it’s there.

But it hurts, still, to be on the outside. To be reminded of the status quo. More than that, though. It hurts to face the consequences of so many bad choices. Only a few hours ago he had Obi-Wan in his arms, in his - for lack of a better expression - bed, and for that short window of time, he had _everything_. He was twenty years old again, stunned senseless and stupid by the difference between _sex_ and making love. Obi-Wan entrusted him with something priceless, something precious, and in learning to cherish that the sand on which he built all of his fortifications gave way. Even at their most frantic, desperate, or angry, Jango’s never lost sight of that, his love for Obi-Wan tucked away somewhere close to his heart.

No one can take that from him, not even Obi-Wan himself, but being out in the cold again, uncertain if his touch is welcome, let alone his love, is _hard._

Despite that, he doesn’t doubt for a second that he’s made the right choice. This is Obi-Wan’s arena, it’s where he belongs. Not war, perhaps, but as the beating heart in a machine of unimaginable change.

“I’m not angry with you.” Obi-Wan turns towards him as the door slides closed. He seems to be expecting Jango, his face as clear and serene as the calm waters of an unfathomably deep lake.

Jango Fett isn’t a man who is supposed to care what _anyone_ thinks of him. He tries to laugh it off with a wry grin and a shrug. “Thought you promised never to read my mind?”

Obi-Wan’s answering smile is indulgent. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Sometimes it feels like you can.”

“I don’t need to read your mind to know your heart,” Obi-Wan says. “I see you now as I always have.”

“And you still love me?” He doesn't mean to sound so insecure, but the ache is still there.

“That was never up for debate,” Obi-Wan promises him. “My heart was yours before I even knew it could beat.”

It’s sweet, desperately so, but Jango can’t help a small chuckle. “ _Ner ne’dee_ ,” he closes the space between them and brushes a damp strand of hair back into place. “Always so good with words.” He dares to run his thumb over Obi-Wan’s bottom lip, shivering in anticipation as his eyes flutter shut, his mouth parting on instinct. He wants more, welcomes Jango’s touch with every silent scream of his body leaning, craving, and -

Regret. “We can’t, Jango, not here.”

He knows his cue, knows it’s time to back off, to let him rebuild his equilibrium, but first, he has to ask. “Because of Skywalker?”

“Because every second you’re touching me is a minute I want to be anywhere in the Galaxy but here,” Obi-Wan says sadly.

Emboldened, Jango curls his fingers around the back of Obi-Wan's neck - lets his thumb brush the bruise he painted while Obi-Wan writhed and panted and came apart beneath him -and draws him in for a slow kiss. It’s almost chaste. Almost. And it is a promise. “When this is done, then,” he vows. “When the war is over. You’ll let me take you away somewhere. Let me make my case for why our future deserves a kinder rendition than our past.”

“No marriage proposal this time?” Obi-Wan leans into his touch, his body softening with every breath. This close, Jango can see the lines that draw faintly at the corners of his eyes and the sparks of silver that dance prematurely through the copper strands of his hair. He knows they are a reflection of his own hard-worn experiences, and he wonders if his eyes are as unchanging as Obi-Wan’s are.

“Not this time, _kair’ta_ ,” he admits.

“Careful,” Obi-Wan says. “They might not all be fluent, but the men speak more than enough Mando’a for you to jeopardize your tough reputation.”

Jango snorts. Only Obi-Wan can think that loving him _lessens_ Jango’s street cred. Anyone who knows the Jetii - and whose opinion might matter - either adore him themselves and entirely understands the sentiment, or they’re secretly impressed Jango hasn’t lost his kriffing mind in the process. “You’re right: I should say it in a language Skywalker understands.”

Obi-Wan sighs and pushes him gently away. “Jango...”

“He’s such a little _shit_ ,” Jango whines.

“Oh believe me,” Obi-Wan agrees dryly, “no one understands that more than I do. He is, however, _my_ little shit. You know what he means to me.”

Jango crosses his arms and tries not to pout. He’s too old to pout. Too old, and pouting is the kind of kark Skywalker might pull. He _has_ to be more mature. “Boba hates him.”

“Boba is genetically predisposed to hate everyone,” Obi-Wan fires back.

“He likes you!”

“I am infinity likable,” Obi-Wan nods. He’s smirking now, and _gods_ , Jango wants to fuck that expression right off his face.

It’s a confusing state to exist in, this love kark. Twenty percent of Jango wants to wring his damn fool neck most of the time, and the remaining eighty percent seems to be pretty evenly divided between holding and kissing and cherishing and _loving_ Obi-Wan, and doing really, _really_ explicit things to that mouth. It’s times like this he regrets no longer being on speaking terms with Satine: she’s inevitably got the answer.

“You’re very likable,” Jango nods. “But that also might be a genetic predisposition. The men all love you, too. Especially your Commander.”

“Be nice to Cody,” Obi-Wan warns. “He’s ninety percent of Rex’s impulse control and the only reason I get _any_ sleep these days.”

“He’s a good kid,” Jango admits quietly. He silently _hates_

“He could kick your ass,” Obi-Wan smirks again. “He’s as good as you are and twenty years younger.”

_Ouch._

Maybe Jango doesn’t like the good Commander _quite_ as much...

“They’re all good kids,” Obi-Wan says more seriously. “And they deserve better than the hand fate has given them.” It’s not an outright condemnation for what Jango has done, but it’s likely as close as Obi-Wan will ever come to it.

It strikes him again that Obi-Wan must’ve seen so many of them die over the course of this war. And yes, they are all separate people, all with individual personalities and dreams, for all Jango talks of genetics, but they have his face.

Aside from a few less lines and a few more scars, Commander Cody _is_ , head to toe, Jango’s exact copy. He’s a mirror in a way some of the other boys aren’t.

He doesn’t doubt for a second that Obi-Wan has been - or even wanted to be - involved with any of them: they are under his command, for one thing, and arguably underage legally if not developmentally. And Obi-Wan is a Jedi, he falls for a soul, not a face.

Which, frighteningly, proves Jango even _has_ one, but that’s a separate issue.

No, Obi-Wan loves Jango, he knows it. And he believes him when he says he mourned Jango’s death.

Jango never even stopped to consider _that_ aspect of leaving Obi-Wan behind.

He has to hold him again, just to feel the beat of that wonderous heart against his chest. The easy affection startles him and Jango can’t help wonder how long it’s been since someone has shown him such simple human contact.

“I should’ve come to you,” Jango whispers to him. “Before all this. Maybe things would be different?”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan agrees, resting his head on Jango's shoulder, “but not necessarily better. We can’t cling to the past, my love, and we have no time to dwell on what-ifs. What is, is. We can only strive to make the best of it.”

“The boys might deserve better,” Jango admits, “but they have you in their corner: that’s a far greater gift than anything I could’ve given them.”

“Now they have both of us,” Obi-Wan corrects. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and Jango waits, knowing he'll be allowed inside his head when he has his thoughts arranged. “After this is done,” Obi-Wan says slowly, “I will go with you. To the edges of Wild Space if that’s what you want. But-”

Jango’s heart swoops and dives in rapid succession. “Tell me,” he demands breathlessly. There’s literally no price Obi-Wan can ask that will be too much for him to pay. He _knows_ Obi-Wan will never part him and Boba: everything else is willingly up for negotiation.

“I can’t leave them to be used and discarded once the war is over, however victory might fall. If we live through this-”

“We _will_.” Jango refuses to entertain a reality in which they don’t.

“ _If_ ,” Obi-Wan gentles, a brush of his lips against Jango’s, “If we survive, they deserve a future free from the shackles we’ve both put on them. So yes, Jango, I will come with you. But so must they.”

Okay, when Jango said _anything_ was up for negotiation he really didn’t expect Obi-Wan to bring his four and a half _million_ clones to the table.

He leans back. Takes a breath. Shakes his head - not in refusal, but in bewilderment. “You know something, Kenobi?”

“What?” Obi-Wan doesn’t look for a second like he doubts Jango’s commitment.

“It’s kriffing lucky you’re pretty.”

“Yes,” he laughs, “I suppose it is.”


	8. Chapter 8

Less than forty-eight hours after Obi-Wan’s kidnapping, he, Anakin, Cody, and Jango kriffing Fett are sat having tea with a trio of notorious bounty hunters known - originally - as The Triplets.

Anakin’s not actually drinking his tea. He’s clutching his mug and scowling. Fett isn’t drinking either, nor is Cody.

To rephrase. Obi-Wan is drinking tea with a trio of ruthless mercenaries while the sensible, non-suicidal fraction of the group sit quietly and glower.

“Thank you for taking the time to see us,” Obi-Wan says politely. “And thank you for the tea. Kliimi?”

“From Donatooine.” Anakin can’t tell either of the triplets apart - they don’t even have separate signatures in the Force, that’s how kriffing weird they are - so labels them One, Two and Three in his head. It’s Two who answers Obi-Wan.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan nods, as though anyone but him knows what they’re talking about or gives a damn either way.

“Hard to get this time of year.”

“But worth the effort,” Obi-Wan agrees. “The best things usually are.”

“Often,” One nods, “but not always. Sometimes it is easier to wait for a better batch. There's always more tea.”

“Wise indeed,” Obi-Wan hums.

And then the four of them spend five whole minutes in silence, drinking their tea. Cody’s the kind of stoic asshole who can remain entirely motionless for _hours_ when called upon, and Fett seems to be more interested in the collection of antique blasters on the cantina wall. That just leaves Anakin to fight back the urge to bounce his leg in boredom.

Through their bond, Obi-Wan gives him the same psychic poke in the ribs that he used to when Anakin was too antsy to sit still for a fifteen-minute meditation. He ignores the mental jibe at his patience and uses the chance to poke back. He wants to know more about Fett. He wants to know _everything_ about Fett. How else can he ensure Obi-Wan isn’t being taken advantage of?

A wave of fond exasperation flows over him, followed by a sharp kick to the metaphorical ass as the door closes in the face of his curiosity.

Fine. Be that way.

After a further five minutes - in which Obi-Wan eagerly accepts a refill in his delicate mug and sits back serenely while he drinks it - Fett clears his throat.

Obi-Wan blinks, and -

No.

No, he is _not_ blushing.

Fett isn’t psychic, is he? Oh gods, Obi-Wan didn’t kick Anakin out of his head so he could play psychic footsy with his husband, did he?

“ _Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin,”_ Obi-Wan mentally snaps. Anakin raises a challenging eyebrow in his direction. It’s not _that_ wild an assumption to make! Yesterday he thought his Master was completely inexperienced in matters of... well, if not love then certainly sex and today he’s having to accept a reality in which Obi-Wan has not only had sex but enough of it to have the Galaxy’s most notorious mercenary at his beck and call.

Because yeah, either Fett is playing the long con - and the jury’s not out on that one yet - or he’s well and truly wrapped around Obi-Wan’s little finger.

Now Anakin has to completely reassess every single interaction he’s ever seen Obi-Wan have. The man flirts as often and as easily as he breathes, and the idea that he might _actually_ be okay with following through on any of it is...

Well it’s kriffing...

He’s not slept with Ventress, has he?

Obi-Wan inhales his tea sharply, choking until Cody pats him consolingly on the back.

“ _Stop thinking, Anakin, I beg you.”_

“Apologies,” Obi-Wan wheezes, a hand pressed to his chest. “Too much fine tea.” None of the three respond. Obi-Wan doesn’t expect him to. He stands, Cody immediately following. “Many thanks for your hospitality. Come along, Anakin. Jango.”

Outside, on their way back to their ship, Anakin turns to him. “I thought we were supposed to be getting the Guild off our asses?”

“We have,” Obi-Wan frowns. “You were there.”

“You talked about tea.”

“It was exceptional tea.”

“At no point did you talk about people wanting to murder you.”

His Master frowns. “We talked about tea,” he stresses again.

Is that a euphemism? Why is tea a euphemism? He looks at Cody and quickly wishes he hadn’t. Rex might shrug his shoulders, no more clued in than Anakin, but Cody will die before he lets anyone think he’s not a hundred percent on top of everything.

The scary thing about him is that he usually _is_. He’s Obi-Wan’s hyper fixation on protocol and rules dialed up to a thousand, underlined by the truly terrifying ability to juggle the lives of half a million men, all while keeping Obi-Wan breathing and stopping Rex and Anakin from having any fun. Plus he has the galaxy’s greatest sabacc face. Only Obi-Wan and Rex can read him.

“That’s the Guild off your back,” Fett says as they enter their transport. Apparently tea _is_ a euphemism. “Although I’d be prepared for a number of delayed wedding gifts. Don’t open anything from Juno: it will one hundred percent be poison.”

“Duly noted,” Obi-Wan nods. Cody twitches besides him.

“General, if you’re ready to depart?” He probably wants them in deep space as soon as possible just to limit the number of ways Obi-Wan might be murdered horribly.

“Of course, Cody. At your leave.”

Cody nods and makes for the cockpit. Anakin follows, planning to finish reviewing the Negotiator’s external communication reports, but stops when he realizes that neither Obi-Wan or Fett are following.

He slinks into the shadows, well out of their line of sight, the soft rumble of the ship’s engines firing up and masking his breathing.

“I got you something,” Fett’s voice drops to something coy, something _lewd_. Anakin physically strains himself resisting the urge to knock his head off.

“It’s not another shrunken head, is it?” Obi-Wan asks.

Fett snorts. “Those things have cultural value,” he argues.

“Indeed. Madam Nu confiscated it for the Archives.”

“Is that what happened to all the gifts I sent you?”

There’s very little space between them now. Obi-Wan should know Anakin is here, should sense him, but his expression is achingly soft and he has eyes only for Fett.

“ _An’ee_ , we have distressingly different ideas of what constitutes a courting gift. Although, Qui-Gon did enjoy the brandy.”

That’s something else Anakin can’t get his head around. Back before they knew Fett was alive, when Obi-Wan had the same look in his eyes as he does know, a very abridged version of his and Fett’s relationship laid out for their curiosity, he’d said Qui-Gon _encouraged_ them.

Encouraged as in... well that’s just it, isn’t it? He can’t imagine Qui-Gon encouraging Obi-Wan to have sex _or_ fall in love with a Mandalorian, and yet he seems to have known all about it. Just like the Council.

“It’s not brandy. Or a head.”

“Does it explode?”

“That was one time, _ne’dee_ ,” Fett snorts. He puts his hands on Obi-Wan’s waist and draws him closer. Obi-Wan not only tolerates it but allows himself to be moved.

“The Temple Guards opened all my correspondences for six months after that,” Obi-Wan sighs. “They wanted to have you arrested.”

“Hmm, now there’s a thought. Think I should’ve snuck into the Temple?”

“I think you’d’ve been stabbed. Repeatedly,” Obi-Wan laughs. The sound hits Anakin hard in the chest. When was the last time he heard Obi-Wan really laugh?

“Would’ve been worth it,” Fett leers. He leans down, presses his mouth to Obi-Wan’s neck -

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan swots his arm. “Do you want Anakin’s blood pressure to hit the roof?”

“I can’t give less of a kriff,” Fett murmurs, moving back in to place a kiss under Obi-Wan’s jaw.

“Yes - ah - yes you can.”

“I really can’t.” He wraps an arm more firmly around Obi-Wan’s waist, pulls them flush against one another. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. _Kyrjar'anilar, ner runi.”_

 _“Ke'pare_ ,” Obi-Wan’s eyes fall closed. Anakin should leave, he should...

“ _K'uur,”_ Fett hushes him. “ _Mesh’la. Gar su mesh’la.”_

Obi-Wan opens his eyes and puts his fingers over Jango’s mouth, forstalling any further kissing. “And you are utterly incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word,” Fett murmurs, his fingers curling around Obi-Wan’s wrist, holding it delicately while kissing his palm. “I’m not doing this right if you can still use words like that.”

Forget incorrigible, Fett’s kriffing relentless.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says pointedly. For a moment, Anakin starts, certain he’s been observed. Then Obi-Wan continues. “Please try and make an effort with him.”

“He hates me,” Fett says flatly. It’s true, and it’s good that Fett can see it. “The feeling is mutual.”

“He doesn’t hate you, _cyare_. He’s a Jedi. Besides, he’s my brother. I love you, and he will come to-”

“Please don’t say he’ll come to love me,” Fett shudders dramatically.

“Tolerate you,” Obi-Wan finishes dryly. “He’ll come to tolerate you.”

“I guess I could live with that,” Fett grumbles. “If he stops looking at me like I’m about to accost you any kriffing second.” Obi-Wan raises a pointed eyebrow and glances down at the arm still around his waist. “This doesn’t count.”

“No. Of course not.” That’s the second time he’s laughed in as many minutes. “Really, though. You know how dear he is to me.”

Fett’s been back from the dead for five kriffing minutes? How can _he_ know how Obi-Wan feels about Anakin when Anakin isn’t even sure himself?

“Fine. I will...”

“Tolerate.”

“ _Tolerate_ Skywalker. Don’t expect me to like it.”

“I would never,” Obi-Wan says indulgently. This time, it’s him moving in to kiss Fett, and he does it in a way that’s practiced and confident. “Thank you, darling. Now. You said you had something for me? You didn’t steal from the Guild, did you?”

Fett grins, that one simple expression stripping years from his face. “I can go put it back?” he offers.

“It’s not a blaster?” Obi-Wan frowns, and then his whole face lights up. “Oh!” Fett plucks a small pouch from his belt and drops it into Obi-Wan’s hand. Tea. Fett stole him _tea_.

Kriff, maybe he _does_ love Obi-Wan?

“Better than a shrunken head?”

“Considerably!”

Fett wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “So does this mean...” he jerks his head to one side, nodding in the direction of the fresher.

“Certainly not,” Obi-Wan says. “I have reports to write.”

Fett deflates and pouts but still lets Obi-Wan step out of the circle of his arms. “Can I at least watch?”

“Can you sit quietly and not make obscene comments?”

Fett swears loudly. “I’ll go make sure your commander isn’t about to fly us into a star.”

Again, Obi-Wan laughs. He sounds - kriff, he _looks_ \- so much younger. “You go do that. Thank you for my tea.”

The affected scowl Fett is wearing drops away to something honest and open and surprisingly vulnerable. He nods and smiles and watches wistfully as Obi-Wan climbs the stairs to the small office.

And here’s the thing: he watches for far longer than he needs to, his eyes fixed on the last spot Obi-Wan occupied before leaving his line of sight. After a few moments stillness, he raises his fingers to his lips, to the place Obi-Wan kissed him so tenderly, and smiles. It’s an expression Anakin knows well, one he sees every time he looks in a mirror and thinks of Padmé.

Somehow, against all odds, against all _sense_ , Jango Fett has fallen in love with a Jedi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyrjar'anilar, ner runi - Surrender (to me), my soul  
> Ke'pare! - Wait  
> K'uur - Hush  
> Mesh’la. Gar su mesh’la. - Beautiful. You're so beautiful. (Fun fact! Mando'a is gender neutral so EVERYONE is beautiful and I think that's neat.  
> Cyare - beloved


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There are references to Shmi's death and the circumstances around it.

Jango's ability to stay away from Obi-Wan now is about as robust as a wilting flower. Ten minutes apart and he’s giving in, sneaking into Obi-Wan’s office and sitting himself down at the round table he is working at.

Obi-Wan pointedly ignores him in favor of his work and that’s _fine_. He doesn’t need a conversation. And he knows for a fact that he can outlast him if he just leans back in his seat and leers a little.

The little vein above Obi-Wan’s left eye starts to pulse.

Oh yeah, Jango gives him another twenty minutes _max_ before he’s allowed to get his hands under those ridiculous layers.

At least, that is, until Skywalker appears.

“Can we talk?” He hovers in the doorway, an oversized, awkward shadow of a boy who is by turns breathtakingly arrogant and cripplingly insecure. He seems to be edging towards the latter now, his young face lined with premature worry. Even Jango can feel the tension radiating from him. He stands, knowing without looking that Obi-Wan will agree. He wants to offer them some privacy. He can go back sit with Cody and cultivate his fondness for the way the boy _desperately_ dislikes him. Then Skywalker shakes his head. “No, I mean... all of us?”

Okay. That's unexpected. Is Skywalker about to show a grain of maturity? If he does, does that mean Jango has to be nice to him?

Obi-Wan sets down his datapad and laces his fingers together on top of it. “Of course. What’s troubling you?”

Skywalker fidgets from one foot to the other in almost the exact same way Boba does when he’s nervous. It’s the most endearing thing Jango has yet to see him do. “I need... I guess... I guess I’m confused.”

Obi-Wan is never more patient than when he’s teaching. “I imagine you have a lot of questions.”

Chewing furiously on his bottom lip, Skywalker stews in silence for a moment before all but exploding. “Love is forbidden! How is this... how are _you..._ and the _Council!”_ His failure to complete a single sentence draws an exasperated little smile to Obi-Wan’s face. They really are a matched pair of opposites.

“Attachment is forbidden, not love. It is a Jedi’s duty to put others before ourselves, to be compassionate. To care. You know this.”

“That’s what I told Padmé,” Anakin mutters. A slow flush creeps up his cheeks and he looks down at his hands.

“Padmé?” Jango frowns. “Wait, is she the pretty little thing on Geonosis who unchained herself before either of you two ‘professionals’?”

“She’s spectacularly competent,” Obi-Wan says dryly, sparing Jango a wry little sideglance.

“And the woman you tried to assassinate,” Skywalker says with pointed anger. Jango cocks his head, studies his surly, hooded gaze and the physical back and forth he’s taking between misery and anger. _Oh._ That’s what this is about. The kid is in love with the girl. No wonder he hates Jango's guts. All fairness to him. 

He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. Yeah, this one is Obi-Wan’s. Jango isn’t suicidal. Besides, he needs to take pointers on what to do - or not to do - when Boba is a few years older. That kid is gonna turn him grey, he knows it.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighs. “And he’s going to apologize for that, aren’t you?”

That kicks him out of his mental sideline. “I am?” He’s seen grown men run screaming from the look Obi-Wan levels him with. “I mean sure,” he clears his throat. “Very sorry. Won’t happen again.”

He’ll admit he’s not _one hundred percent_ sure what he’s apologizing for, but he’s also not about to pick this hill to die on. Skywalker looks constipated enough.

Before the boy can continue that strand of the conversation, Obi-Wan drops the proverbial bombshell. “I know about you and Padmé, Anakin,” he says softly. “For two intelligent people, neither of you have been particularly subtle.” His expression softens to something equally fond and sad. “And really, I might’ve been grieving, but there was no missing the way the two of you were all over each other after the fight on Geonosis.”

Anakin and Jango flinch in unison. Jango knows what he’s guilty of, but something tells him Skywalker is dwelling on more than just an illicit hookup or two.

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly. “That you were grieving. That you were upset. I should’ve.”

Obi-Wan holds out a hand and beckons Skywalker over. When the boy slinks sullenly into the opposite chair, Obi-Wan gently takes his metal hand in his own. “You had your own worries,” he says kindly. “Both with your injury and with what happened to your mother. You must understand something, Anakin: we are partners now, equals for the most part, but back then you were my Padawan. Your well-being was always going to be my priority.”

“I could’ve helped,” Skywalker is sullen and not about to let it drop so easily. Jango stays quiet. Jokes aside, this is something that needs to be aired between the two of them. “I wanted to before, you know? After Naboo. I saw how sad you were. You wouldn’t let me help you then either.”

“Oh, Anakin.” Jango’s been on the end of that hopelessly adoring look before; it’s brutal. “You were a little boy back then, and for all your sullen melodrama, you were still a teenager on Geonosis. It’s never been your job to comfort me.”

“I didn’t want to do it because it was my _job_ ,” Skywalker growls. “You’re my Master. We’ve always been a team. I _want_ you to know I’ll look after you, too.”

“Okay,” Jango’s stayed silent out of respect, but he knows Obi-Wan too well, and he can recognize some of his own stubbornness in Skywalker. They’re talking across one another and that needs to stop before his head starts to pound. “Hold a second. You,” he looks at Obi-Wan, “are pathologically incapable of accepting help. You barely allow yourself to recognize that you need it, let alone allow anyone else to ease your burdens.” Obi-Wan opens his mouth to argue. “Shut up, _ne’dee_ , I’m not finished. _I know why_ you’re like this, but Skywalker doesn’t. You don’t, do you?” He asks Skywalker, who shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

“Because he’s Obi-Wan?”

“Because his pigheaded Master fed into a lifetime self-esteem issues and convinced him that being perfect and self-sufficient at all kriffing times was the only way anyone would tolerate keeping him around.”

Obi-Wan kicks him viciously under the table. It’s childish and petty and one hundred percent proof that Jango’s on the mark. He doesn’t _enjoy_ being so blunt about something he knows still hurts obi-Wan badly, but he’s also not about to shy away from inflicting necessary pain in order to avoid greater hurt down the line.

“You’re blowing things wildly out of proportion,” Obi-Wan snaps. “Qui-Gon Jinn was a good man and an excellent Master-”

“He was human,” Jango corrects. “He can be all three.”

Anakin shakes his head slowly. He’s visibly struggling to process what Jango is saying. “No. No, Master Qui-Gon was... he found me. He _saved_ me. He-”

“He wasn’t a bad man, kid,” Jango says kindly. “But he _did_ make some bad calls.” He reaches over and takes the hand that’s not holding Anakin’s, the three of them joined with Obi-Wan as the lynchpin between them. “It broke his heart, _ne’dee_ , knowing what he’d done to you.” Jango is as gently as he can be, hating the way Obi-Wan’s eyes grow bright with tears he will never allow to fall. “You never wondered why he never stopped me from seeing you?”

Obi-Wan swallows. “He always was a bit of a maverick...”

“He told me,” Jango says, remembering the conversation as clear as a ringing bell, “that you were more alive, more _yourself_ with me than you ever were with him. That I gave you your fire back.” It’s probably why he’d been so monumentally pissed at Jango _after_.

There’s something very young about the soft downturn of Obi-Wan’s mouth, but for once he doesn’t _say_ anything. He’s finally lost for words.

“That’s what I don’t understand, though.” Most of the antagonism has seeped from Skywalker’s shoulders. “He knew. The Council knew. They _still_ know. And they’re okay with it?”

“Oh, they’re not _happy_ ,” Obi-Wan clears his throat. He tears his eyes away from Jango’s with visible difficulty and focuses again on Anakin.

“Not happy isn’t ‘expelled from the order’. That’s what you said would happen to me.”

“I did?” Obi-Wan frowns. “Oh, on Geonosis?” Skywalker nods. “There’s a difference between love and attachment, Anakin. Only the latter is forbidden. You chose to try and save Padmé - who wasn’t in any significant danger at that point, I might add - at the expense of the mission. That is where we as Jedi must draw the line. Think of the things the Force allows us to do. The power it gives us. We must be mindful at all times of our motivations and desires, to put our duty first above everything else. While I am no doubt due a very long and uncomfortable conversation with Mace and Yoda about current developments, back then they were under no doubt where my priorities lay.”

“You chose the Order over love.” It’s an accusation, one Jango used to share.

“I chose duty over personal desire,” Obi-Wan corrects. “I told you; love is encouraged among the Jedi. In all forms. My love for Jango is no more or less valid than my love for Qui-Gon was, or my love for you is now. They take different forms, but I could no sooner ask my heart to value one more than the other than I could forsake either of you. I love you both dearly. Just as I love Bant and Garen. And Ahsoka. And Cody. That love gives me strength and fortitude and succor when I most need it.”

Skywalker looks away, lost in his own head. When he turns back, bright tears of conflict spill over onto his cheeks. “And now? When they ask you now, what will your answer be? Will you leave the Jedi for him?”

Obi-Wan sighs. Jango squeezes his fingers tightly and answers for him. “I won’t ask him to. I fell in love with a Jedi.” He leans in closer until he can press an affectionate kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan presses into him, the movement barely a breath, but noticeable to all three of them.

“Padmé and I are married,” Skywalker blurts. “I wanted to tell you,” he rushes on, “I wanted to tell you so badly - I hate keeping secrets from you - but I thought you’d tell the Council. I thought you’d kick me out, and-”

Ob-Wan uncurls his fingers from Jango’s and he lets him leave without resentment.

“Look at me.” He presses both of his hands to Skywalker’s cheeks and holds him, gently but firmly. “No matter what might happen, you will always be my dearest Ani. Nothing you, or Padmé, or the Council do could ever change that. There’s a saying in Mando’a-”

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din,”_ Jango provides helpfully.

Obi-Wan flashes him a small smile. “Well yes, family _is_ more than blood. But that’s not it. _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad.”_

“You’ve said that to me before,” Anakin sniffs. “I remember...” he frowns, thinking. “When I had nightmares.”

“And you’d crawl into my bed and put your ice-cold feet between my legs,” Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yes. Do you know what it means?”

He shakes his head.

“ _I know your name as my child_ ,” Jango translates for him. “It’s a Mandalorian adoption vow. The same one my father said to me when he took me on as a Foundling.”

“Oh,” Skywalker says. Kriffing ‘ _oh_ ’ indeed. “Isn’t _that_ attachment?” Kid has a point there.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says sadly. “And no. Love is an essential element in the universe, as necessary to our survival as oxygen and carbon. It can lead us to do great, beautiful, _terrible_ things. That is what we must guard against. Our love must strengthen us, inspire us, but it must never be selfish. It must never be a weapon. You must learn the difference, do you understand?”

“No,” Skywalker chokes. Far from looking comforted, Skywalker seems to be spiraling into greater pits of despair. “No, no, you don’t get it...”

“There’s something else,” Jango realizes. “Isn’t there?”

“Talk to me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan begs. “Please.”

Still nothing. Skywalker is weeping openly now, and the sight of his tears is stirring Obi-Wan to near-identical misery. Jango doesn’t care for the kid much, but even he’s moved to sympathy.

“I...I told you how mom died?”

Obi-Wan brushes a trail of tears from Skywalker’s cheek with his thumb. It’s loving and tender, and he’s very careful when he answers. “You said she was killed by Tusken Raiders,” he answers.

Jango winces, and suddenly Skywalker makes a _whole_ lot more sense. He thinks he knows where this is going, and he feels for the boy.

If he’s right in his fears, he knows Obi-Wan will forgive Skywalker, but he’ll never _truly_ understand.

Jango might actually be able to help here.

“I... I didn’t tell you everything,” Skywalker admits. “They didn’t kill her right away. They took her. And kept her. And... and they-” his face crumples miserably, heartbreak and trauma pouring from him in waves. It hurts Jango. Obi-Wan must be drowning in it. “They _hurt_ her. They...” he can barely speak around his tears, “...like I thought he hurt you...”

It takes Jango only a second to follow, then Skywalker instantly goes up in his estimation. If it were the other way around, he’d’ve ripped Skywalker’s spine out long before asking any questions.

Obi-Wan looks devastated, no doubt circling a way around to how this is somehow _his_ fault. “Oh, Anakin,” he breathes out in pain. “Oh, my dear boy-” he doesn’t hesitate then, pulling Skywalker into his arms and holding him tightly.

Skywalker latches on to him tightly. He’s bigger than Obi-Wan, taller and broader, but he looks every bit the child as he clings and weeps. “I killed them, Master.” His howl is muffled in the folds of Obi-Wan’s clean robes, but Jango can still make out his words. It’s as he feared, then. “I killed all of them. The men. And the women. And the babies. _I killed all of them._ ”

Obi-Wan is crying now, silent and broken-hearted. He strokes his hand through Skywalker’s tangled curls, rocking them gently. Over Skywalker’s head, they make eye contact and he clings to the strength Jango offers him unconditionally.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am MILES behind on responding to comments. I am so sorry! Please know I read and cherish every one of them (and you guys have sparked MULTIPLE ideas for later stories in this series) and I continue to be overwhelmed by your feedback.

Anakin wakes up slowly and feels as though he’s gone ten rounds with a gundark. He groans, stretching and sitting upright, surprised to find himself on the couch in the small office space, Obi-Wan’s robe draped over his shoulders for extra warmth.

There’s no sign of his Master, but after a moment of intense concentration and a failed attempt to clear his foggy head, the door slides open and Jango Fett steps into the room.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Fett passes him a mug of warm, steaming soup and perches on the edge of the table. Anakin’s grateful for the warmth - he’s never stopped finding space travel intolerably cold - and he’ll never turn down food.

“Thanks,” he says. He doesn’t know where he and Fett stand with each other. He’s not even sure how he’s been able to open up the secrets in his heart with a near-stranger - a dangerous stranger - in the room, but somehow Fett’s presence _helps_. Even Anakin can see how much Obi-Wan adores him, despite - and this is what’s knocking Anakin off balance - how utterly crazy Fett seems to drive him. Anakin’s used to being a source of Obi-Wan’s frustration and has always struggled to accept his affection in the face of it. How can he trust those feelings are genuine when he so frequently - and often deliberately - pushes Obi-Wan’s buttons?

But here’s Fett, doing damn near the same thing, and Obi-Wan _loves_ him. The two don’t rule each other out.

So maybe... maybe he can love Anakin as well? With that lense inserted, he’s viewing the world, and so many of his past interactions with his Master, in a brand new light.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” He’s surprised not to find his Master here. Obi-Wan’s never shirked any of his duties and there’s a mountain of work piling up for him on the datapad. Every few seconds it glows, a new transmission for his attention arriving with luminescent obnoxiousness.

Fett snorts. “Unleashing his righteous fury on everyone from the troll down.”

Anakin has a mouthful of soup when he realizes who Fett is referring to. “Yoda?” he chokes, his throat burning.

“Hmm. Don’t think he’s very happy with your wife, either. Something about lying to his face and taking advantage of your emotional trauma?”

“Padmé didn’t take advantage of me!” Anakin exclaims. If anything, it's probably been the other way around. 

Fett grins wryly and shakes his head. “Let him be protective,” he advises. “It buys us a little time before he starts hoarding the blame.”

Anakin flushes in shame. “It wasn’t his fault. I told him it was. That she died, I mean,” he adds at Fett’s questioning look. “I had dreams if it for months. He told me they were _just_ dreams.” Time has given him a little perspective and he knows rationally that Obi-Wan isn’t to blame - that blame rests only with the monsters who took her - but the core of that knot is still stubbornly refusing to untangle completely.

“That might actually be another hangover from Jinn,” he says slowly. “Don’t get me wrong, I not saying Kenobi’s never kriffed up off his own back before, he _really_ has _,_ but...” he rubs his chin thoughtfully. “He used to have the same kind of dreams. Vivid ones, nightmares, really. I always thought they were because of the shit that went down on Concordia. He’d wake up screaming about fire and death, about things that he said hadn’t happened yet. I thought if I just held him tighter, if I loved him enough, I could chase them away." The look on his face makes it clear how well _that_ had gone. " Jinn’s advice was always to ‘focus on the here and now’. He didn’t really believe in prophetic dreams and he made it clear he expected Obi-Wan to discount them.”

The more he’s learning about Qui-Gon, the more conflicted his memory of the man is becoming.

He didn’t believe in prophetic dreams, but he believed in prophecy?

He cared for Obi-Wan but nearly extinguished his spirit?

Anakin wants to ask his Master for the truth, but he’s starting to think that Obi-Wan’s insistence on honoring a flawed memory of the man is for his own comfort as much as Anakin’s.

“I don’t know why he doesn’t hate me,” Anakin mutters. “I was so sure he’d hate me. Revenge isn’t the Jedi way.”

“It’s pretty human, though,” Fett shrugs. He’s so offhanded, so dismissive, and it twists something angry up inside Anakin’s aching chest.

“And you’re the expert?”

Fett starts to laugh. “Kid, we are more alike than you think. Revenge is a condition I am _intimately_ afflicted with. I told you I was adopted?” Anakin nods slowly, not sure where Fett is headed but willing enough to listen. “My _buir_ \- my adoptive father, was Mand’alor.”

He takes a break from sipping at his soup to ask, “He was King?”

“Something between a King and a President,” Fett shrugs. “Clans followed a line of succession, but any Mand’alor could be challenged for the position. If he’d lived, I would've inherited the tile and the darksaber.” He’d rule the planet, Anakin realizes. Hell of a career change from a princeling to a bounty hunter. “As it is... you know about Galidraan?”

Obi-Wan has mentioned it a few times, his face carefully neutral, but Anakin has studied the battle fairly closely at the Temple. The Jedi consider it a great tragedy, a proof of fallacy, a cautionary tale. It’s unsettling, knowing the academics of something and yet sitting opposite someone who lived through it.

“How old were you?” He figures Fett is older than Obi-Wan, but he’s surprised by how much.

“Bit older than you,” Fett says. “Twenty-two.”

“Wait, so you’re _nine_ years older than Obi-Wan? And Master Qui-Gon was okay with you two...” _Anakin_ isn’t sure how he feels about his eighteen-year-old Master starting a relationship with... kriffing hells, Fett would’ve been pushing thirty.

Fett rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed. “Look, the last thing I expected was to fall for some annoying, skinny, self-righteous baby Jedi. And I didn’t touch him until months after he turned eighteen-”

“ _After_?” Oh, this just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? Qui-Gon apparently did a shitty job of kicking Jango’s ass back then and it’s looking like Anakin will have to pick up the slack.

“He was seventeen when we met?” Jango looks confused, as though he expects Anakin to know that. “We’re getting off-topic-”

“The topic of how you seduced my underage Master?” Anakin asks coldly, clutching Obi-Wan’s robe more tightly around his shoulders.

Fett drags both his hands over his face. It’s an expression of frustration that reminds Anakin too much of Rex. “I’d spent four years either locked in a cage or chained to corpses by that point,” Jango says dryly. “Trust me, there was no seduction. I was half-feral and he was a _pain_ _in the ass_. Nothing even remotely romantic happened between us until well after we escaped the slavers and nothing physical for a lot longer. He...” Fett pauses, seemingly struggling to find the right words. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be spoken to like a person, to have someone touch me and not want to hurt me. Most of the slaves they chained me to were terrified of me and none of them lasted more than a few weeks. He changed everything. He was kind, even when I gave him no reason to be.”

It’s not so hard to imagine it. Obi-Wan _is_ kind. If he thinks about it, forces himself to be rational and impersonal instead of giving in to an urge to avenge something that might never have happened... both Obi-Wan and Jango have talked about courting gifts. And however it might’ve started, there’s certainly no imbalance of power now.

“Okay,” Anakin says, willing to hold off on any dismemberment for now. Fett nods his gratitude.

“Fuck, he’s the eloquent one. There’s a point me to telling you all this, I swear.”

After knowing Fett only as the hyper-competent man who formed the foundation for the GAR and later a threat to his Master’s safety, it’s almost endearing to see him looking so off-balance. All because he’s trying to _help_ Anakin.

The sigh that Fett lets out seems to travel right through him. “Okay, now I think about this I’m probably _increasing_ the likelihood of you wanting to kill me...”

“And that’s going to help me _how_?”

“Because I understand revenge,” he says, suddenly cold and deadly serious. “I watched my birth parents be slaughtered when I was barely eight years old and then I led the people who took me in, gave me a _home_ , to their deaths. I lead them to _slaughter_. And when I saw them dying around me, dying because of choices I made...” he shakes his head. “I tore six Jedi apart with my bare hands, and it wasn’t enough. My people were wiped out and I was sold into slavery.” His knuckles blanch white as his fists clench. Anakin reaches out with the Force and touches his pain, feels the dark, heavy waves of it crashing over him. It’s a tidal wave of anger and hate, as cold as the waters on Ilum but sticky and cloying, clinging to his skin, to his sanity, his _soul_. He recoils, the sheer pain of Jango’s anger stealing his breath.

Is this what Obi-Wan feels when he reaches for Anakin? The roots of their hate are deeply buried in different soils, but the fruits bloom rotten just the same.

“I hated the Jedi,” Jango says, his voice as soft as a whisper and as sharp as a blade. “Sometimes I still do.” The hate gives way to grief and a surprising amount of guilt. “And then I remember what my hate makes me capable of.”

At first, Anakin is lost. “You were in the middle of battle,” he says, wanting to ease some of the self-reproach in Jango’s expression.

“Not the first time I tried to kill Obi-Wan,” he says, meeting Anakin’s gaze head-on. “Or the second time. Or the third.” He forces his fists to unclench. “All I could see when I looked at him was a _Jedi_ , and I was back there, listening to the screams of my family as they died around me. Hatred was the only thing keeping me sane. I thought it served a purpose. That if it kept me alive for one more day, that was one day closer to freedom - to revenge.”

The lump that lodges in Anakin’s throat is one he’s been battling since his confession. Jango’s quiet retelling of pain long past has somehow become the most important conversation he’s ever been part of. “What changed?”

This is the man who only a few hours ago uttered the words, “ _I fell in love with a Jedi_ ’ and kissed Obi-Wan with utter devotion. _Something_ changed.

The cold expression on Jango’s face melts away, a sunbeam of love washing the pain from his eyes. “He asked me if it helped. I beat him damn near to death more than once. I put my hands around his neck and I _squeezed_ , and... he was afraid, I know he was afraid, but for some insane reason, my hatred just made him sad. He said it was to the Jedi’s shame that I hated them, and he asked if hurting him made it any better. It wasn’t.... he wasn’t accusing me of anything. He wasn’t angry that I was making his life worse than it already was...”

Watching Jango now, Anakin wonders if Obi-Wan realizes what he did back then.

Perhaps he does. Perhaps that explains his own devotion to Jango.

The Jedi’s mistake wounded Jango deeply, but Obi-Wan’s simple kindness broke him completely.

“There was this kid,” Jango laughs bitterly, shaking his head at the memory, “‘half-starved, chained and collared, someone who _needed_ my protection, and what did I do? I beat him worse than the slavers did because I hated him for something he had no control over. My _buir_ would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

Oh, Anakin knows that feeling well. He’s looked down at his hands, seen the blood that stains them, and wept in the knowledge of how _disapointed_ Obi-Wan would be.

“I still hate them,” Anakin admits torn between guilt and self-righteousness. “I try to feel bad for what I did, but all I see is her face.”

“That’s normal,” Jango shrugs. “Might not change for a long time. Might not ever change. What you did, you did. I’m not your Master, I’m not a Jedi and I don’t give a womprat’s ass about right or wrong. You’ll have to have those conversations with people who have a significantly more polished moral code than I do. But I’ll tell you this: you can’t ever let it out again, not like you did then. You want to hold it to your heart and let it fester? Your call. I’ll let Obi-Wan handle that one. But the people who hurt your mom are dead. You killed em all. Anyone you hurt from this point on? No matter how you square that up in your head, you’ll be lying to yourself. They ain’t the ones who did it, and you’ll be punishing the wrong people.”

He gets what Jango is saying, he does, but _they_ weren't _people_. “That’s their whole culture,” Anakin argues. “It’s what they all do. They’re _butchers_.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jango nods. “I thought that about the Jedi, once. Turns out I was wrong. They were lied to just like we were. I have to live with what I did, what my hate nearly cost me. You think I don’t wake up every kriffing day grateful for Obi-Wan Kenobi’s soft heart? He forgave me, but he didn’t have to. And I would’ve missed out on loving someone who makes me want to be better with every breath that I take. Trust me, kid,” Jango flashes him a wry little smile. “No amount of hate is ever gonna wash away the pain, and it’s really not worth the risk trying.”

He wonders how different his life might be if Padmé hadn’t held him and understood. If the fear he caused her had overwhelmed her love and chased her away. Or if Obi-Wan _had_ responded in disgust and shunned him. He’s held on to both fears in different ways, only really able to trust the Chancellor.

He’d been sympathetic. He’d understood. And he’d tried to protect Anakin by cautioning him against trusting Obi-Wan with the truth.

It seems almost silly now. He _knows_ Obi-Wan. His Master would never truly abandon him.

“He forgave you,” Anakin says slowly. The warm weight of Obi-Wan’s robe is infused with his presence and feels like an embrace Anakin is welcome to sink in to.

Jango smiles. “And he’ll forgive you. Just... do me a favor? Let him fuss. He’s gonna be like a mother tooka at nesting season and you will _not_ win any arguments with him. And look, he’s gonna want to do Jedi mind things with you,” he shakes his hands around his head in demonstration. “Just let him help. You wanna talk about shit you don’t think he’ll understand, you can come to me. I can guarantee that every fucked up thing you’ve ever done I’ve done worse.”

“And he’ll be okay with that?” Talking to Jango _is_ easier. Maybe because he doesn’t have that expectation or history, or because he accepts the flaws of his own past so honestly.

“Kid, so long as he knows you’re talking to one of us, he’ll be fine.”

“And you won’t just tell him?”

Jango rubs his forehead. “If I think it’s something he _needs_ to know, I’ll tell you to talk to him. If it’s some psychic Jedi shit or whatever. That’s not my remit. But no, other than that, things’ll stay between the two of us.”

“Why?” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t even like me!”

“Do you like me?” Jango snorts, pulling a face. “That vow he made to you wasn’t just a bunch of fancy words. In the eyes of my people, you’re his son. He’s my _riduur_ \- my spouse,” Jango tacks on the translation, “which, unlucky for you, makes you _my_ son.”

Overwhelmed, Anakin does what he does best; he deflects. “Don’t you have enough of them already?”

“Don’t,” Jango looks pained. “That’s a whole other thing... just... Boba won’t go easy on you,” he chuckles. “Be prepared for the prank war of your life.”

Anakin’s head is still spinning. The last few hours have upended his whole life.

Obi-Wan _loves_ him. Obi-Wan considers Anakin his _son_. Obi-Wan’s insane murder husband is offering himself up to Anakin as a moral compass. And he has, at the very least, one brand new little brother.

He’s never had to share attention with anyone, not with his mom and not with Obi-Wan. He thinks, maybe, that this might be a good thing. He can at least make sure Boba knows how to properly rewire a droid.

“Tell him I’ll kick his ass,” Anakin says, his smile watery.

Jango snorts. “Tell him your-kriffing-self. I’m not getting involved.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A number of you asked for the return of Ballsy, the talkative shiny! 
> 
> I think this part can be described as everyone getting to take a breath and Cody finally getting his long-overdue nap.

It’s tradition when fleet officers return to their posts for them to be met on deck by the Officer of the Watch and all on-duty ship’s company who aren’t serving at essential posts. Jango knows the regs as well as any of the boys, and so he’s as surprised as Cody to see only a small cluster of troopers and one Captain on duty when they dock.

The Captain - the same one Jango bribed to buy himself some alone time with Obi-Wan before - isn’t even standing to attention; he’s crouched over something and flailing. As they disembark the shuttle and get closer, Jango can finally see what it is he’s doing.

And the likely culprit.

“Attention!” Cody barks, his sheer disgust for the lack of professionalism being show something even Jango is a little intimidated by.

There’s a smattering of curses and a fair bit of fumbling but the group snaps awkwardly to attention, still carefully trying to hide what Jango can only assume is a supply crate.

A supply crate that is both on fire, and leaking.

“What in the name of-” Obi-Wan, who has been hovering beside Skywalker and not paying much attention to anything other than the kid, comes to a sudden and bewildered standstill. “Rex, why is there a fire on my ship?”

“Boba!” Jango resists the urge to pinch his nose in frustration. Whose genius idea was it to leave his kid unsupervised around so many flammable objects?

Boba’s unruly mop of hair pops out from behind Captain Rex. He looks almost angelic, which means this entire situation is unquestionably his fault. “Hey, dad!”

“Report, Captain!” Jango almost feels bad for the kid - Cody might actually be scarier than Obi-Wan.

“Sir! We, er, that is to say-”

“He started it,” Boba shrugs, pointing up at Rex, who immediately forgets his rank to splutter indignantly.

“How did _I_ start it? You were already _on fire_ when I found you!”

“That was Ballsy’s fault,” Boba shrugs, looking across to the shiny who is all but fidgetting on the spot. “We were trying to see if the stuff they clean the floors of the Mess with is flammable. For, er, science.”

“It’s not,” Skywalker says, his voice subdued and hoarse but his expression mildly curious. “You’ve gotta add an accelerant. Try Nitorine-”

“Do _not_ _try nitorine_!” Cody bellows. “Clean this mess up, now! You’re all confined to quarters for the next rotation.”

There’s a very subdued “Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” from the gathered men, and shockingly not even a spark of shame from Boba.

“Would nitorine really work?” he asks Skywalker curiously.

“Sure,” Anakin shrugs. He leans closer to the small fire and sniffs. “Chlorix?” Boba nods. “You know that’s toxic, right?”

“We only used a little,” Boba protests. “It didn’t explode or anything.” He sounds disappointed.

“Please don’t set things on fire, Boba,” Obi-Wan says patiently. “And Anakin, please don’t _encourage_ him to set things on fire.”

Jango nods and crosses his arms over his chest. “I taught you better,” he says sternly.

Boba’s expression falls. “Sorry, dad.”

“You _always_ add an accelerant,” he says, finally losing the fight with his smirk.

“ _Haar'chak!”_

As one, everyone freezes and rounds on Cody.

“Did the Commander just curse?” Ballsy the shiny asks his companion in a badly concealed whisper.

Skywalker’s shoulders start to shake as he tries to smother his laugh and Rex is almost vibrating on the spot. Only Obi-Wan looks sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, General, that was unforgivably unprofessional,” Cody says stiffly. “Please accept my-”

“Oh my dear Cody,” Obi-Wan chuckles, patting him kindly on the shoulder, “never apologize for calling Jango on his banthashite.”

“Hey!” Jango protests.

“Did the _General_ just curse?”

Kriff, these kids are all going to self combust in excitement at this rate.

“That said,” Obi-Wan continues loudly, “I do think we could all benefit from some much-needed rest. We can reconvene in six hours to discuss our next steps. Rex, can I trust you to take care of this without me having to requisition a new ship in the morning?” He’s just a little pointed and the Captain wilts a little.

“Yes, sir, General. I’m, er, very sorry?”

“Come along, Commander,” Obi-Wan says gently to Cody. “Have you slept at all since I went missing?” Cody mutters something too softly to be heard and Jango immediately feels bad. Cody’s been so quiet and solidly dependable that he’s not given any thought to his wellbeing. “I thought not,” Obi-Wan says. “You too, Anakin - you and Boba can terrorize the rest of the men tomorrow.”

“But-” Both Boba and Anakin start to protest.

“No buts, kid,” Jango gives his son an encouraging nudge.

“But Ballsy says I can bunk with them! Please, dad!”

Jango isn’t sure how he feels about that. For many reasons, not just flammable ones. He looks to Obi-Wan for a cue, but he’s too busy shepherding a reluctant Cody towards the crew quarters. “Yeah, okay,” he relents. “Best behavior, am I clear?”

“Yes, dad!” Boba bobs his head in enthusiastic agreement.

“I mean it. One broken reg and you’ll be cleaning the ship until you’re twenty-five.”

“We’ll look after him, sir,” one of the troopers promises- Jango doesn’t know his name and doesn’t know why that _hurts_.

He grunts and nods his head in agreement, then finds himself navigating the halls to Obi-Wan’s quarters while the Jetii puts both Skywalker and Cody to bed.

By the time Obi-Wan joins him, Jango has already stolen a pair of his sleep pants and crawled into his bunk.

“They okay?” he asks, relaxing against the pillow while Obi-Wan strips down efficiently.

“Cody was out the second he put his head down,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I’m more worried about Anakin, but he needs the sleep.”

“What did the Council say?” He likes the domesticity of it all; the easy conversation and the unselfconscious way Obi-Wan potters around the room as he gets changed.

“What didn’t they say?” he grumbles. “There’ll be an investigation of course, but I’m confident I can protect Anakin from the worst of the fallout.” He flicks the light out and crawls under the sheets to settle back into Jango’s arms.

“You’re tired, _kair’ta_ **,** ” he kisses Obi-Wan behind the ear.

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan agrees.

Obi-Wan likes to be closest to the door, his stubborn Jetii chivalry and overprotectiveness far more willing to let his mind rest if he knows he’s the first thing between Jango and any threat. Jango’s happy enough to let the man who can literally kill with his mind take that spot, however stubborn he might be in admitting he finds that extra safety _soothing_. All he wants out of the scenario is enough space to hold Obi-Wan in his arms while they sleep.

Okay, maybe not _all_ he wants, but despite common opinion, he’s not completely insensitive. Both parties need to be enthusiastically engaged, and while Obi-Wan is a Jetii - and like most Jetii, is occasionally in need of the little encouragement - there’s more than just the complexities of his beloved Code spinning around in his head right now. Jango used to know him well enough to know how far - and how hard - he could push in order to get him out of those isolated headspaces, but that time is a decade gone.

So he’s content to snuggle up behind Obi-Wan, to breathe in the familiar smell of him and feel the warmth of his skin. There’s little of him to spare: hard muscles and sharp bones, and nothing _soft_ about him, but his skin is mostly unmarred despite so many injuries and feels so smooth beneath Jango’s calloused fingers. His beard tickles, but his hair is the same heavy, silky weight he remembers. Lighter now than it was then, smooth waves where it was once short and spikey - and that ridiculous nerf tail...

They fit together perfectly and this is _more_ than enough for Jango. He’s just about starting to truly relax when Obi-Wan turns in his arms. He draws his fingers lightly over the balls of Jango’s shoulders, down the muscles of his arms and across to his back. Jango, unlike Obi-Wan, has never had the benefit of Force trained healers or Jedi metabolism; he wears every one of his scars, thick and ugly.

They feel less so when Obi-Wan touches them, though, and there’s no need to think about anything when warm lips brush across his own.

“Aren’t we a little old to be making out like teenagers?” Jango asks, his eyes closing and a slow smile turning up the edges of their kiss.

“Oh, shut up,” Obi-Wan grumbles, pressing them closer. They _might_ be too old, but if they are... well, kriff if they are. Lying in bed with Obi-Wan, kissing and cuddling like two virginal teenagers is now officially his favorite non-violent pastime. Another few hours of this is _exactly_ what they both need. It’s not going to go any further; sleep clothes are staying on and hands are staying - mostly - above the waist. There’s no expectation of more, and maybe that’s why it’s so nice.

They’ve done the wild, adrenaline-fueled fuck already and he has _years_ worth of kisses he needs to catch up on.

Sleep is overrated anyway.

At some point he ends up on his back, Obi-Wan’s warm weight against his chest, and he feels _ridiculously_ close to tears. Part of that is Skywalker - Anakin, he probably should call the kid Anakin - and the mental wounds he picked open in an attempt to establish common ground with the kid. Another part of it is Obi-Wan himself. He shouldn’t be allowed this, not after the many, _many_ times he’s hurt Obi-Wan, but here they are.

“Still not sure how I feel about the beard,” Jango mutters between kisses.

“I’m not shaving if for you,” Obi-Wan answers, his mouth following the curve of Jango’s throat, that damn beard tickling more the lower he gets.

“Fuck no,” he agrees. “You remember Ta Fren?”

He’s not prepared for the way Obi-Wan stops kissing him to push up on his palms and _glare_. “I am _not_ braiding it with ribbons.”

“It’d be very dashing,” Jango teases, reaching up to tug gently on the short hairs. “You remember how -”

“I remember,” Obi-Wan growls, “that Ta Fren’s people braided their beards for a _very_ specific reason. Do you really want me going around advertizing my virility _on my face?”_

When he puts it like that... Jango wraps an arm around his back and flips them both over. “I think,” he says, marveling in the sight of Obi-wan beneath him, “that it's time I give this-” he nips lightly at the bruise he’d sucked into Obi-Wan’s neck while they fucked in the cockpit, “a companion. Here?” He drags his fingers over a sharp collarbone, tracing it from edge to edge before around to the opposite side of his throat. “Maybe here...” Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter closed, his back arching, pushing up towards Jango’s wandering hands.

Then the bed - the entire ship - gives a violent lurch.

Jango sits back on his haunches. “Was that you?” he asks. “Because if it was, _nice_ , but someone will absolutely have noticed. And by someone I mean-” he’s not above traumatizing either his _or_ Obi-Wan’s kid with this shit, but Obi-Wan usually has a bit more decorum.

Obi-Wan groans and flops back dramatically. “As talented as you are, darling, no. That wasn’t me.”

“There’s no red alert,” Jango muses. They’re on a Republic cruiser in the middle of a war zone - an attack isn’t out of the question - but you really _can’t_ mistake battle station sirens for anything but what they are. “Wait...” a suspicion starts to form. “You don’t think?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Obi-Wan grumbles. “Do you hear me, Anakin?”

Jango knows Obi-Wan can talk to other Jedi he has a strong link with - he did it often enough with Jinn - but it’s jarring when he says the words aloud at the same time.

“Him and Boba?” Well, that was fast...

“We’re going to have to find ways to separate them,” Obi-Wan grumbles, tugging his boots on with extreme irritation. “Or at the very least, distract them.”

Jango snags him around the waist and pulls him back towards the bed. “Leave it, _kair’ta_ ,” he says. “The Officer of the Watch will handle it.”

For a second, Obi-Wan starts to melt against him, then that stubborn commitment to duty kicks in. “I would love nothing more,” he says, kissing Jango on the forehead before extracting himself from his arms. “But Anakin outranks them all, Force help us. Which means Rex will comm. Cody, which means-”

“Let sleeping Commanders lie,” Jango nods, seeing the problem. If Cody has finally bunked down he will _murder_ anyone dumb enough to wake him less than an hour later. “Go Save your dumb kid from the verbal evisceration headed his way.”

“Oh, I’m not saving him,” Obi-Wan gets his elbow caught in the sleeve of his robe. “I’m going to step in when Anakin pulls rank.”

“Does he know Cody’s your favorite?” Jango snorts. He scoots back on the bed and already misses the extra warmth.

“Everyone knows Cody is my favorite,” Obi-Wan says primly, finally dressed and heading for the door. “He writes such spectacularly precise mission reports.” He points at the bed, at Jango, and gives him a look that promises a whole lot more than kissing. “You stay put.”

“Yes, sir, General Kenobi,” Jango smirks. “Don’t be too long...”

Muttering furiously under his breath, Obi-Wan leaves in search of their errant kids. The door slides closed and a few moments later there is an almighty bellow of rage that makes even Jango cringe.

Cody’s awake, then...


	12. Chapter 12

Cody gets his revenge in a way that reminds everyone _why_ he’s the highest-ranking clone officer in the GAR.

After a quick breakfast and a tedious strategy session on how to handle Obi-Wan’s bounty situation - in which the only conclusions they make are that security is to be doubled and Obi-Wan needs to _not_ be an idiot - they end up taking over the shipwide PT session that’s scheduled later in the day.

Anakin and Rex Spar - Anakin wins hands down.

Obi-Wan and Anakin spar - Obi-Wan wins, and not without a good deal of teasing.

Cody and Rex spar - Cody puts Rex immediately into a headlock and extracts endless promises _not_ to set things on fire outside of combat situations.

Jango and Boba spar - Boba cheats and Jango has never been prouder.

Jango and Cody spar - Jango wins only because Cody lets him and it’s _not_ something the good commander does out of kindness.

Between each bout of friendly violence, Cody makes the entire company run laps of the ship.

The first five times are easy enough but by the tenth?

No one is _ever_ going to disturb the Commander’s sleep ever again.

“Do you want to run with your full field kit?” Cody growls at the trooper who breathlessly reports in after lap eleven, the hope of being given a reprieve slowly dying in his eyes when Cody - who is once again kicking Rex up and down the mats - turns on the assembled group.

“Sir, no, sir!” A hundred clear voices ring through the training hall.

“Then move your asses! Double time!”

The thunder of boots echoes around them for a good few minutes before fading away.

Rex struggles to wriggle himself out of a headlock in order to grin up at his brother. “You’re gonna make the shinies cry,” he laughs.

“Too damn right I am,” Cody grunts, dumping Rex on his ass.

“You’re a grumpy bastard when you’re tired,” the Captain dances out of reach, a delighted grin and a spring in his step that makes it clear he’s having a _riot_ , even if everyone else is cursing Cody’s name.

“Now, Rex,” Anakin interjects, nudging Boba forwards as they cross over the mats to join them. “That’s not fair. Cody’s a grumpy bastard _all the time_.”

“You call it grumpy, sir,” Cody says dryly, “others call it professional.”

Okay, Cody might be shaping up to be _Jango’s_ favorite as well.

Anakin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Then he gives Boba another nudge with his elbow. “You’re gonna be good, kid,” he praises. “Never as good as me-”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Anakin, don’t brag.”

“Will too,” Boba scowls.

“Jedi,” Anakin says, placing his hand on his chest before patting Boba on the head, “ _squirt_. It’s not your fault I’m awesome.”

“Hey, dad?” Normally Jango would stay well out of this, but yeah, no. “How _do_ you kill a Jedi?” Boba asks. His curls are plastered to the side of his pink cheeks, clearly pushed hard by Anakin’s training but still wanting more. They’ve certainly jumped right into the rivalry part of their new sibling relationship.

“Quickly,” Jango says dryly. He looks over at Obi-Wan, memories of their last real fight fresh in his memory. Neither of them had been actively trying to hurt the other on Kamino, but there _had_ been an element of emotion there that stopped it from being a purely platonic fight. They have very different skillsets and almost entirely opposite styles of fighting. It makes them a good pair.

“Is this really a suitable conversation?” Cody glowers, a very pointed scowl in Jango’s direction.

“Possibly,” Obi-Wan muses, “we are encountering more Force users as the war progresses. It can’t hurt to incorporate that into a wider training regiment. And Jango is uniquely qualified.”

Cody inclines his head then crosses his arms over his chest. “Sir,” he says expectantly.

“How do you kill a Jedi _fast_?” Boba asks, deflecting the tension that’s building between Jango and Cody. “Obi-Wan squished those droids like bugs _and_ he was drugged.”

Multiple glares are leveled in Jango’s direction that the reminder of his maybe, possibly, slightly less than rational attempt at keeping Obi-Wan safe.

“We’re having two separate conversations here,” Obi-Wan says. “The technique you are referring to is called a Force Crush. Very few Jedi use it-”

“Because they can’t,” Anakin says smugly.

“Because it is a particularly violent and cruel technique to use on a sentient being unless you have absolute control.” Obi-Wan corrects. “There are a number of methods a force-sensitive fighter - or Sith - might use in combat that a Jedi never would.” Obi-Wan brushes his fingers over his beard in deep thought.

“Don’t think Dooku or Ventress are going to be too bothered about that,” Anakin points out.

“Can you do the-” Boba holds out a hand and makes a sudden fist with it, “thing?” he asks Anakin. Jango’s starting to suspect there’s a little hero-worship budding in his son where Anakin is concerned. Obi-Wan is firmly in the parental category, both by merit of his own actions and Jango’s treatment of him. Anakin is just old enough to be interesting and exciting for Boba, young enough to respond to that interest playfully, and immature enough that they have an almost identical sense of humor.

“Sure,” Anakin nods. “Not that Obi-Wan would teach me,” he adds, rolling his eyes at his Master.

Obi-Wan snorts and combs his hand back through the unruly strands of his hair. “Yes, because teaching a melodramatic teenager how to crush things with his mind would’ve endeared me so well to the Council.”

“Luck for both of us that I’m an observational study,” Anakin smirks.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighs, sounding very put upon, “believe me, that aspect of your personality is not your most endearing.”

“I am the _most_ endearing,” Anakin protests, sending Rex into a fit of giggles that’s badly disguised by a series of coughs.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Obi-Wan ignores the jibe and fixes his attention on Boba. The kid stands straight and alert, just like Jango’s taught him and just like his two older bro- “If you are to find yourself fighting a Force-sensitive opponent, there are a few things you can do to level the playing field.” Boba bounces on his heels and nods, eagerly anticipating what’s to come. “Jango, do you mind?”

Mind a chance to spar with Obi-Wan, whatever the format? Nope. Not even a little.

Rolling out some of the stiffness in his shoulders, he joins Obi-Wan on the central sparring mat. Aside from Anakin, Boba, Rex and Cody, more than a few of his echoes are slowly making their way back into the room, trying, and failing to be unobtrusive. They want to see what's about to happen almost as much as they want to avoid alerting Cody and landing themselves with another lap.

“If you lose your weapons, I’ll kick your ass,” Jango starts, settling into a loose fighting stance, “but we’ll start out assuming you’re unarmed. Your opponent has every advantage; you need to even things out.”

Cody and Rex take steps back, clearing the mat for him and Obi-Wan to slowly circle each other.

“Am I armed in this scenario?” Obi-Wan asks, a wry little grin on his face. How many people know just _how much_ he likes fighting? Obi-Wan is so prim and polite and eloquent that Jango is willing to bet very few people know how scrappy he really is.

“You’ve got your stabby glow murder stick,” Jango nods, a mocking tease as he inclines his head. Anakin chokes on a sharp inhalation of breath.

“It’s a _lightsaber_ , _cyare,”_ Obi-Wan replies with exactly the amount of resigned irritation Jango is hoping for.

“It glows in the dark,” he shoots back. “But if we can focus, please?”

Oh, Obi-Wan is absolutely going to make him pay for this, but it’s far too much fun. He can’t actually _remember_ the last time he had this much fun. More importantly, Anakin has the biggest grin and Cody’s knocked some of the serious edges off his expression, his eyes as curious and bright as Boba’s.

“By all means,” Obi-Wan says dryly. “Can I kill you yet?”

“In a minute,” Jango promises. “Now, Jedi like to fight at a distance,” he says, his attention once more on their audience. They’re teasing and playful, but there’s a lesson both he and Obi-Wan want to impart here. “What happens when you try shoot ‘em?”

“You get hit with your own kriffing blaster bolts,” Rex grumbles. Anakin nudges him in the arm - clearly that’s a sore spot from their own training.

“Right. Nine times out of ten you’re not going to be fast enough to break the defense of a trained lightsaber wielder-”

“Oh, so you do know what it’s called?” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

“-but that doesn’t mean you can’t use blaster fire as a distraction. Just don’t expect to do much damage that way.”

“So how?” Boba asks.

Jango jerks his head in Obi-Wan’s direction and he obligingly falls into an aggressive opening stance.

“I’ve taught you the circle principle,” he reminds Boba, then clarifies in case Anakin hasn’t heard it put that way before. “The two predominant fighting styles in use these days operate on the principle that ‘this’ is my circle.” He extends his arms and draws an invisible circle around himself. “Obi-Wan has his circle, I have mine. A lightsaber is designed to keep people at a distance, which means the overriding instinct its wielder has is to create space, to keep people _out_ of their circle, and give themselves room to maneuver.”

He makes several sharp movements forwards, each time met with either an aggressive block that forces him to back off, or by Obi-Wan moving to create that space. They dance a little like that until Jango feels the point has been made. A quick glance over at Boba confirms it and he can’t help but smile. He’s forgotten this. Missed it, even. It’s far more relaxed than any of the training he delivered on Kamino, Rex and Cody’s - and dozen of other trooper’s - attention rapt and eager. It betrays the youth that accelerated aging so dangerously masks.

“So Obi-Wan wants to keep me out of his circle in order to control the fight. The easiest thing I can do to combat that is to invite him into _my_ circle.”

They move again, a dance of back and forth that’s slowed and exaggerated to give the best example. Jango drives forwards, Obi-Wan pushes him back, Jango steps back, Obi-Wan follows. That’s when Jango moves.

Obi-Wan knows it’s coming, likely has since they started, so doesn’t move to counter the attack. He’s a teacher at his core and what’s important here is the lesson, not who wins.

When Obi-Wan lunges, Jango ducks under the attack. He steps right into Obi-Wan’s personal space and in a split second, has him in a tight stranglehold. His forearm is firm against the front of Obi-Wan’s throat, his opposite hand clamped around his wrist, creating an inescapable lock.

“You’ve gotta be quick,” Jango warns. He waits for Obi-Wan’s minute nod of approval, then finishes him off. A strong kick to the back of Obi-Wan’s leg drops his weight more firmly into the crushing hold around his neck. A quick squeeze and the muscles of Obi-Wan’s arms clench in protest, instinct forcing him to drop his saber and reach for the restriction that’s cutting off the flow of air.

Jango immediately loosens his grip and lets Obi-Wan catch his breath.

“Nine times out of ten, the guy with the lightsaber isn’t going to expect a direct assault-”

“Because you’d have to be crazy,” Anakin points out, begrudgingly impressed.

“Right,” Jango smirks. “But in my experience? The only way you’re ever going to take down a Jedi while unarmed is to prey on their arrogance. And need for oxygen. Those fancy powers of yours aren’t going to do you any good if you can’t breathe.”

“And that always works?” Boba frowns.

“Not even close,” Jango snorts. “Maybe one time in fifty. As I said, you’ve gotta be fast, and you’ve gotta be direct. You give even a second’s ground and you’re unconscious at best.”

“Or dead,” Boba sighs.

“Or dead,” Jango agrees. “Surprise is your best weapon.”

“What if he doesn’t have a lightsaber?” Boba asks.

Surprisingly, it’s Cody who joins in. “Yes. What if he keeps, say, _losing_ it?”

“Now, Cody,” Obi-Wan says patiently, “you know that’s only happened-”

“Four times, sir,” Cody says promptly.

“That we know of,” Rex mutters.

Obi-Wan blinks. “That many? How embarrassing.”

“But a Jedi’s weapon is his _life_ , Master,” Anakin clutches his hand to his chest.

“Very funny,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Should we have another practical demonstration?”

“If you want to get beaten up again...” Anakin shrugs.

Obi-Wan ignores him, addressing Boba instead. “Boba, if you can pin Anakin for three seconds I’ll tell you about the time your father was adopted by an oliphant.”

Jango jerks his head up. “Wait, how is this a valid teaching method?” he demands, alarm growing as Obi-Wan’s smile widens.

Anakin snorts “Good luck with that, squirt,” he says to Boba. He goes to pat him on the head again and laughs when Boba dances out of reach.

Boba narrows his eyes. “Do I have to do it by myself?” he asks Obi-Wan, whose smile becomes something positively wicked.

“Not at all. You may recruit all the help you require.”

“I’m in,” Rex blurts before anyone can ask him. “I am so _very_ in.”

Anakin makes a beckoning motion with his hands. “Bring it on, Captain. Two of you-”

“Three,” Cody growls, a vindictive sort of gleam in his eyes.

“Three of you,” Anakin huffs. “Still not enough.”

The four kids start to circle each other on the mats, playful mockery bouncing between them. Anakin thinks he has the upper hand - and he really does - but he doesn’t know Jango’s kid. Not yet.

“Oh, I haven’t asked for help yet,” Boba smirks as Anakin mocks his shortness. “Obi-Wan?”

 _That_ draws Anakin up short. “Hey, no, wait a second-” he protests. “No fair. Fett! If you want to come out of this with any dignity left you better help me!”

The kid has a point, but - “Gonna make me a better offer?” Jango asks Obi-Wan.

“Remember Nar Kreeta?” Obi-Wan asks, innocence in every line of his expression.

Oh, Jango remembers. Jango _absolutely_ remembers. And has to shift a little for comfort. “Start running, Skywalker,” he advises, already starting his advance.

“ _What does that even mean?”_ Anakin wails, a look of vague trauma flashing across his face.

“My dear Anakin, it means,” Obi-Wan says sweetly, “that you really shouldn’t have disturbed Cody’s sleep.”

“But Boba-”

“Welcome to being the oldest, sir.” For the first time ever, Jango sees Cody smile. It’s not a _nice_ smile, but for a second it makes him look more like the boy he should be than the heavily burdened man he is.

“Kark!” Anakin’s curse is loud, but he’s laughing as he makes a break for it and sprints from the training room, three clones hot on his tail.

“He’s not laughed like that in so long,” Obi-Wan sighs. He watches the boys run, shouts of laughter and childish threats following in their wake. There’s a buzz in the training room just from seeing three high ranking officers relaxing just for a few minutes, and though Obi-Wan is smiling, Jango can feel the melancholy starting to curl around him.

Jango doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know how to fix it. Tomorrow or the day after or, kriff, maybe even later today, those kids are going to stop being kids again. They’re going to go _back_ to being soldiers.

And though it’s a beautiful thing, seeing them laugh, Jango can’t help but remember all the reasons he had for _not thinking_ of these kids as _his_. Or even kids at all. Which is crueler? Refusing them every chance to experience the word as children do, or to let them have a taste of it when ultimately, they’re unlikely to live to see twenty?

He’s distanced himself for this very reason, and he can see the fault lines that are already entrenched deep in Obi-Wan’s heart.

Jango’s going to need to do _something_.

He just... has no kriffing idea _what_.


	13. Chapter 13

Despite the several bodies piled on top of him, Anakin honestly can’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed.

The upheaval of the past week is starting to settle and the new ‘normal’ that is slowly beginning to emerge is... well, it’s wonderful. Something has shifted between the senior command crew, something he can’t _quite_ identify. It’s partly because of Jango - and Boba - but mostly it’s because of Obi-Wan.

Anakin has gone his entire life not seeing Obi-Wan laugh and smile as much as he has in the past few days. Even at the Temple, surrounded by people who love and are loved by Obi-Wan in return, he’s always been so serious. Good-natured, even good-humored at times, but ultimately _old_ in a way he really shouldn’t be. He wonders how much of that is because of him, because of the responsibilities and expectations that came not just with training ‘the Chosen One’, but in training an unprepared, frightened nine-year-old in the first place. Obi-Wan is old enough to be his father, yes, but only _just_.

If what Jango says is true, maybe Obi-Wan has _always_ shouldered more responsibility than is healthy? Maybe the serene seriousness that is his default is something manufactured. Not by Anakin, but maybe by Qui-Gon?

And maybe _this_ , this bright light that's colliding with Obi-Wan's warm presence in the Force and exploding it into an effervescent supernova, is bringing the same dawning realization for Anakin that it was for Qui-Gon?

Maybe _this_ is who Obi-Wan really is - playful and happy and _so_ bright - who he _wants_ to be, and who he only occasionally gets to let shine.

It occurs to Anakin that he’s never really seen Obi-Wan interact in any significant, emotional way, with someone he considers an equal.

He’s been Qui-Gon’s student and Anakin’s Master. He’s the youngest member of the High Council, the youngest Knight to ever take a Padawan until the war forced their hands. He looks up to his fellow Jedi, shelters Anakin as a mentor should, and holds himself apart from everyone else in order to maintain that famous objectivity. He even treats the clones the same way he treats Anakin, his tone of voice and expressions when speaking to Boba an _exact_ memory from his childhood.

Jango knows how to scale those impossibly high walls his Master builds, but doesn’t have to. Obi-Wan has handed him the key.

And now Anakin doesn’t want to stab Jango in the throat, he can’t _wait_ to tell Padmé every single juicy, clichéd, daytime holonet, melodramatic _detail_.

Because this? The love that practically bleeds out of Obi-Wan when he looks at Jango? Has changed everything.

The mirror Jango has held up isn’t just reflecting back on himself, but everyone around them, flipping the angle of perspective and showing Anakin that the one thing he’s always longed for has been right there the whole time.

Obi-Wan _does_ understand. And he loves Anakin still. He _always_ has. The confidence that brings... the courage... he’s no longer so afraid of everything. He’s no longer afraid at _all_. He feels... he feels _free_.

Whatever the Council decides, whatever happens next, he knows he won’t be facing it alone.

“You feel better now?” Anakin asks Cody, trying half-heartedly to dislodge Boba from his chest.

Cody, who doesn’t look even a little ruffled, huffs in irritation. “I’ll feel better when we know _who_ put out a hit on our General,” he grumbles. “And who leaked his location.”

“We’ve checked all the comms, vod,” Rex pushes himself upright and claps his hand on Cody’s shoulder. They’re down in one of the breakout rooms off the storage levels, the site of Anakin’s last stand before being tackled by all three of them. It’s quiet and cool and no one is in a rush to get back to work. It’s nice.

A little squished. But nice.

“Rex is right,” Anakin says. “Believe me, I want to know as badly as you do.” If only so he can emphasize to the galaxy as a whole why trying to mess with Obi-Wan is the worst idea you’ll ever have. “But GAR Intelligence _will_ get us names. Until then all we can do is make sure Obi-Wan stays out of trouble.”

“How’re we gonna do that?” Rex grumbles. “Don’t get me wrong, I think the General is brilliant, but kriffing hells, I’ve never met anyone who attracts so much trouble. I thought it was you at first,” he says to Anakin.

That’s a common misconception. “I’ll have you know my life was nice and quiet until I met Obi-Wan. Slavery aside.”

“Slavery aside,” Cody mutters under his breath.

Anakin doesn’t comment on it. “Obi-Wan, on the other hand, has been apparently dodging near-death experiences for the past twenty years.”

“So how _do_ we keep him out of trouble?” Boba asks. He digs an elbow into Anakin’s stomach as he sits up. Brat.

“Maybe your dad had the right idea,” Anakin snorts. “We can just drug him and lock him in the brig until we get to the bottom of it.”

“You’d probably end up killing him accidentally,” Boba shakes his head. “We gave him a _ton_ of stuff and he still kept waking up and falling on his face. Dad was so pissed.”

“Now that sounds more like him,” Cody says. His voice is damn near glacial and it brings them up short.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Anakin says in surprise.

Cody lifts a challenging eyebrow. “And you do?”

“We’ve, er, established common grounds,” Anakin prevaricates.

“Yeah, well, Jango torched any ground between us when he sent my batch mates off for decommissioning.” There’s anger in Cody’s dark eyes, and a flare of helpless hurt that leaves Anakin breathless.

Oh. Oh _kriffing hells_.

“Does Obi-Wan know?” he asks, feeling an overwhelming wave of empathy for the man beside him. Rex leaves his hand on Cody’s shoulder, steadying him in silent support.

Cody shakes his head. “Don’t see why he would.”

“What does decommissioning mean?”

They all tense at Boba’s small voice.

Cody’s eyes fall closed miserably. Anakin wants to spare him the pain of having to answer, but this isn’t _his_ hurt and he has no right to chose what narrative is relayed.

“He decided they weren’t good enough,” Cody says slowly. “So he sent them back to the labs.”

Boba’s eyes are wide and unblinking. “For more training?”

“Yeah,” Cody swallows, “for more training.” He reaches up and squeezes Rex’s hand, a shudder running through his shoulders.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Boba frowns. “If they weren’t good enough then they’d only’ve gotten hurt.”

What Anakin wouldn’t give to have Obi-Wan here now. And maybe Jango, so he can punch him.

Cody flashes him a weak smile. “You and I just have very different experiences with him, Boba.” Anakin gets the impression that Cody is trying especially hard to be tactful. “My memories aren’t as kind.”

Anakin doesn’t know enough about kids to know how much nuance Boba can really read into something, but he’s still surprised when the boy stops chewing on his bottom lip to look up at Cody with wet eyes. “Do you hate me for that?”

“What?” Rex startles, answering before Cody can. “Why would any of us _hate_ you?” He looks to his brother, frowning when Cody doesn’t immediately rush to agree with him. “We _don’t_ ,” Rex growls, a scowl for Cody and a wobbly smile for Boba.

Anakin’s observed enough of the clones over the months to know that they all consider themselves brothers, but there is still a hierarchy that separates them as much as it unites them. He’s never really considered how truly isolated Cody must actually be. He outranks _all_ of them. Even Rex, arguably closer than anyone, is a good four rungs below him. He’s not a Jedi, not part of their world no matter how welcoming they might be, but he can’t truly be just another brother, either.

No wonder he is so attached to Obi-Wan.

“I don’t hate you, Boba,” Cody eventually says. His expression softening to something tired and a little wistful. “But I do look at the younger brothers and wish for them what you have.”

“I’m sorry,” Boba answers, his voice small and his posture curling inwards to reflect it. He jumps when Cody lays a careful hand on his back.

“It’s not your fault, vod’ika,” he says kindly. “None of this is your fault.”

Boba draws his knees up to his chest. Anakin is struck by the need to make him feel better, but he has no idea how. The only people he’s ever had any kind of responsibility for when it comes to providing emotional support exist on such extreme ends of the scale that he doesn’t know how to even start to find a happy medium for the likes of Boba.

“I don’t know why he took me and left you behind,” Boba whispers. “I want to ask him, but-”

“But?” Anakin encourages gently.

“I’m scared of what he’ll say,” Boba admits.

“You are the most important thing in the world for your _buir_ ,” Cody says firmly. “Never doubt that he loves you.”

Boba’s sharp little chin wobbles as he nods. “But why doesn’t he love you too?”

Cody doesn’t flinch, but Rex does. Anakin can see the question circling around in their heads, unwelcome and painful, but Boba isn’t _wrong_ to ask it. He’s too young to understand Jango’s motives - hell, even Anakin hasn’t got a clue what drove him to do it - but he’s old enough to recognize the difference between his situation and that of the other clones. His brothers. _Anakin_ ’ _s_ brothers. Obi-Wan has claimed him as his son. _Jango_ has claimed him as his son. Which makes Cody and Rex and all of the others...

His heart catches in his chest. How can he possibly lead any of them into battle now?

Then Boba shuffles a little until he can lean against Cody’s side. “I think Obi-Wan loves you,” he says hopefully. “And you love Rex and he probably loves you back.”

“Meh,” Rex says, his eyes bright. Anakin kicks him anyway and Cody snorts.

“And I don’t _hate_ you,” Boba continues, narrowing his eyes at them. “You’re kinda cool in a badass, boring way.”

“Thanks,” Cody chokes.

Emboldened, Boba brightens. “And I guess we can put up with the Jetii,” he flicks his gaze up to Anakin and pulls a face.

“Squirt,” Anakin shoots back. He drags the kid forward and stuffs him under one arm so he can ruffle his hair. “Who says we’re keeping you?”

Anakin’s never been looked at with more casual disdain in his _life_. And he’s grown up with Obi-Wan. “Of course you’re keeping me.” He follows the statement with the most exaggerated eye-roll possible and an exasperated, “ _Kaysh mirsh solus,”_ muttered to Rex.

“Okay,” Anakin shakes his head. “Someone is gonna have to start teaching me.”

“He said you’re an idiot,” Rex provides helpfully.

“Yeah,” Anakin snorts, “I figured.”

“Technically it means ‘your brain cells are lonely’,” Boba smirks. Damn kid is like looking into a short, curly-haired mirror.

Huh. Who knew Mando’a was such a bitchy language? No wonder Obi-Wan loves it.

“Wait. What does _kair’ta_ mean?” He thinks of Jango’s adoring gaze and knows it’s going to be something disgustingly soft, but he needs _something_ to tease Obi-Wan with.

Both Cody and Rex shrug.

Boba frowns and bites his bottom lip. “I don’t think it translates so well,” he muses, “but I guess it’s like a love that hurts?” That...doesn’t sound so sweet. It sounds kind of depressing. “No, I mean it’s like when you love someone so much it hurts to be away from them.”

“ _Kairkiyc,”_ Cody says softly. “Desperate heart.” Boba nods eagerly.

“Oh man,” Anakin sighs. “They’ve got it _bad_.”

“It’s kinda nice,” Rex admits. “I can’t imagine loving someone for that long.”

Anakin is privy to information they aren’t and he honestly doesn’t know how any of them - especially Cody - will respond to the darker details of Obi-Wan and Jango’s long-running love affair. But Jango has promised to keep Anakin’s confidence and he finds he can do nothing less than the same.

Cody’s comm chimes, pulling them all out of their thoughts.

“This is Cody.” Any softness vanishes as he switches sharply back into his professional role.

 _“Hello, Cody,”_ Obi-Wan’s smile is audible. _“Is Anakin still alive?”_

“I figured we have enough datawork as it is without adding to it.” Cody’s dark eyes flash teasingly. Anakin thinks he can like this version of the man almost as much as he respects any officer who can keep his Master in line.

 _“Oh quite right,”_ Obi-Wan chuckles. _“Although I am afraid our workload is about to increase significantly.”_

With the exception of Boba, they all shift to more focused alertness. Anakin tries not to fidget. He's been waiting for the summons back to Coruscant to face the Council, but this sounds a lot like a new mission.

“Sir?”

 _“We have new orders, Commander,”_ Obi-Wan says seriously, confirming Anakin's suspicion. _“Take a moment to freshen up then meet me on the command deck.”_

“Yes sir.” Cody is already on his feet.

 _“Oh, and please tell Anakin to_ change _before joining us.”_

Anakin sniffs his tunic curiously. Yeah, okay that’s fair.

“Of course, sir,” Cody doesn’t _physically_ smirk, but kirff if Anakin can’t hear it in his voice. “Can I ask where we’re being sent?”

They all share a curious glance, preparing for the worst.

_“Jabiim, Commander. We are going to Jabiim.”_

He ends the call and Rex lets out a low whistle before dragging a hand over his short hair.

“What’s on Jabiim?” Boba asks curiously.

“A clusterfuck, kid,” Rex grumbles. “A Grade A clusterfuck.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon/EU has been thrown into the blender - Anakin is very much a General here in his own right, not a Commander, and for those of you who know what is about to happen on Jabiim please forgive me for swapping poor Alpha 17 with Rex. I'm about to be very, very mean and it will hurt all the more this way :D

“You’re supposed to _avoid_ the canon fire,” Jango shouts. It’s a juggling match, keeping Anakin upright while he fires a blaster and the kid deflects incoming fire, but they’re managing. What’s most important is that there are less than a hundred feet between them and the fortified walls of the GAR front line. Covering fire is already shooting past them and any minute he’s going to see Obi-Wan’s gloriously irritated face.

“Sure,” Anakin huffs in pain. “Next time I’ll just let the kriffing thing take your kriffing head off.” There’s blood pouring down the front of his tunic, shrapnel embedded shallowly in flesh and bleeding like a motherfucker. The worst injury is the heavily bleeding wound that curls around the tender skin between his hips and ribs. It’s going to need a trip to the bacta tanks. Kriff, it’ll be a miracle if it isn’t infected already.

Jango, he’d like to point out, is not bleeding. Why? Because unlike the Jetii and their barely functional armor, he’s in full _beskar’gam_. Not only is he not bleeding but he’s also not wet. Or freezing cold.

Jabiim has been an unmitigated disaster right from the second they set foot on the planet. Aside from the Seppies, who already have both a foothold and the advantage of local knowledge, the planet is home to an extremely hostile native population and a climate that makes air support damn near impossible. Round it all off with terrain that’s either rocky, muddy or inexplicably both and they tick every box on Jango’s entire list of things to avoid in a military campaign.

He’s going to go out on a limb here and say this is possibly worse than Concord Dawn. Which... yeah.

“General Skywalker!” The second they break free from the treeline and make for the front there’s a barrage of heavy cover fire and an influx of friendly faces as Rex, Jesse and Hardcase vault over the defensive barrier and sprint to their aid. They’re joined by the most valuable of all the unit and Jango takes quick advantage of the chance to all but throw Anakin into the arms of the 501st most experienced medic, Kix.

“Don’t let him be an idiot,” Jango barks. Now he’s free of his precious cargo he can turn around and fire a rocket right in the faces of the _shabuirs_ on their heels.

Anakin, predictably, makes a hasty attempt to protest only to be dragged back into the relative safety of Shelter Base.

It’s the Republic’s last outpost on this shithole of a planet and current home to the 43rd Battalion, who obligingly lay down heavy cover fire until Jango and Anakin’s pursuers slink back into the forest.

Jango puts a hand on his knee and takes a second to catch his breath.

Well, that was...

“So much for light recon,” Rex says, one hand bracing Jango’s shoulder, the other handing him a canteen of water. Hastily removing his bucket, Jango takes a much-needed drink. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine. Skywalker stopped a canon with his bare hands.” He’s teased the kid in an effort to keep him focused, but privately he’s a little in awe. He’s seen Jetii pull off some insane shit over the years, but the raw power Anakin has at his disposal is... well it’s a little terrifying. It’s one thing to deflect blaster fire, but Anakin didn’t just take on a tank - he took on four of them, and took them all out with one deflection and a shockwave of power that knocked Jango clean off his feet. It’s the shrapnel that’s done the damage, but in truth, _neither_ of them should still be alive.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Rex nods. He’s got a badly healed cut dissecting one cheek and one hell of a black eye, but he’s one of the least battered of the ground troops.

The last month has been one hellish campaign.

“General Kenobi is inside, sir,” Rex says, leading Jango through the base towards Central Ops. He takes back the flask when offered it and slips it into his belt. The two of them make their way across the camp and Jango does his best not to focus on the sheer number of troopers rolling in and needing medical treatment. If he starts down that path...

The death toll has been catastrophic.

“Any word on Cody?”

He’ll give Rex credit; the kid doesn’t flinch. “We got word that he’s been successfully evac’d to Handooine with the other casualties, but nothing since.”

The main bulk of the 3rd Systems Army is stationed on Jabiim’s closest neutral neighbor. They’re waiting, no, _praying_ , for a break in the relentless electrical storms that have not only fucked ground communications but made it impossible to safely maneuver anything bigger than a light cruiser through the planetary atmosphere.

Obi-Wan has so far refused to give the order for mass transport to be attempted ‘just in case’. Their analysts have the success rate at less than .4 percent. Somehow that’s a problem for the Senate.

“He’s got a hard head, kid,” Jango reassures Rex. “And he’s tough as bronto’s ass. He’ll be fine.” He needs to be.

Rex nods. “He probably did more damage to the clanker than it did to him,” he says bravely.

Jango purposely isn’t thinking too much about Cody, or the way he’d nearly bled out in Obi-Wan’s arms less than a week ago. It’s hard seeing any of the boys in pain, but Cody is special. He’s special to Obi-Wan, and he’s special to Jango.

“Damn right,” Jango says. “And he’s gonna be pissed he’s missed all the excitement.”

“ _You’ve_ missed all the excitement,” Rex says. “While you and Skywalker were out ‘not engaging the enemy’ we finally made contact with Command."

Oh, Jango imagines Obi-Wan has had plenary to say about their situation. “Let’s go see how fucked off he is, then,” he says grimly.

* * *

There are few things in the galaxy _more_ attractive than Obi-Wan Kenobi when he’s in his element. Normally, Jango will jump at any opportunity to just sit back and watch him work. It says a lot, then, that he can’t even find much joy in that.

Obi-Wan hasn’t slept in twenty days.

He’s relying heavily on the Force to function. In truth he can probably do so for another few weeks. They’ve had a very tense learning curve in their relationship - practically non-existent though it is right now - in which Jango has been forced to separate the protective urges he has for his lover from the practicalities of the fact that Obi-Wan is a Jetii. Jango might not like it, but Obi-Wan _is_ capable of pushing himself well beyond the limits of human endurance. He _can_ go almost indefinitely without rest. If he has to. If the gains outnumber the losses.

Right now, they do.

Jango is absolutely kidnapping him again once this is done. But for now...

As High General of the 3rd Systems Army, Obi-Wan has the dubious honor of running this shitshow. 

Or rather, he has the impossible task of taking order passed down from the Senate and figuring out a way to implement them in what can only be described as ongoing clusterfuck. And his patience has _long_ since fucked off.

Maybe if they were here to liberate the oppressed or abused, but they’re not. There’s an element of that, small though it is, but ultimately it comes down to credits.

They’re here to protect the Republic’s mining interests.

They’re down ten Jedi and nearly six thousand troopers because the bureaucrats don’t want to concede some damn holes in the ground.

Obi-Wan looks up from the war table as Rex and Jango enter the room. His eyes are sharp and cooly focused but for a second Jango sees a flash of fear within them when he sees Akain isn't with them.

“Skywalker’s getting checked out by the medics,” Jango announces to the room. “He took some shrapnel blowing a hole in the Seppie’s frontline, but he should be back on his feet in a day or so.”

“I’ll have medical forward the reports when they’re done,” Rex adds.

Obi-Wan nods. Only those who know him well will see the relief in the way his shoulders lose just a fraction of their tension. "Keep me informed."

Jango is technically only there as an advisor, so he has to tread very, very carefully when keeping himself in the knowhow.

“Master Kenobi?”

Aside from members of the 43rd, 501st, and 212th, there are twenty Jedi Padawans stationed on base. Many of them have lost their Masters in the conflict.

The small girl who speaks up is the only one Jango has taken the time to get to know.

Little Ahsoka Tano is Anakin’s Padawan.

Anakin in barely shaving and he’s responsible for a teenage girl. It’s as hilarious as it is horrifying, and ultimately just means that Obi-Wan now has _two_ Padawan. She joined them with the others, her bright eyes lighting up in delight at the sight of Jango. He wants time to actually get to know her, to spend some time with yet another kid he’s somehow collected, but the battle has raged on with little concern for niceties.

“Yes, Padawan?” Obi-Wan treats Ahsoka exactly the same as he does the other children, but Jango knows how dear the girl is to him purely by her association with Anakin.

“May I go check on Master Skywalker?” She’s painfully young and visibly exhausted. All of the young Jedi are. For many of them, this will be the worst conflict they’ve ever seen. A rude awakening to the changing state of the world. One Obi-Wan is helpless to shelter them from.

“Of course.” Looking across the group of small, determined faces, Jango can almost feel the grief emanating from him in waves. “The rest of you should take the next hour to rest,” he says kindly. “Sleep if you can, meditate if you can’t.”

“We can help, Master Kenobi,” one small Twi’lek boy - and kriffing hells he can’t be any older than Boba - says bravely.

“I know you can,” Obi-Wan says softly. “And we are counting on you to do so in the days to come. Take what opportunities for rest you can, young one. The fighting isn’t going anywhere.”

The Padawans don’t need telling again. They scatter, quickly leaving the room. Before she goes, Ahsoka steps up to Rex. “He needs you,” she whispers. “He’s used to working with Cody and none of the others can keep up with him.”

And that, as much as anything, is Cody's real talent. Obi-Wan is often six steps ahead of everyone else, and Cody is right there with him. 

“General Kenobi!” The assembled troops all jump at the arrival of a loud - and in Jango’s opinion - wholly unwelcome voice.

“That’s our cue,” he mutters to Rex, who pats Ahsoka on the arm before following Jango over to Obi-Wan’s side.

It’s not that Jango expects Obi-Wan to _kill_ Captain Gillmunn - the man is on their side after all - but sometimes people forget that he _is_ a whole lot more prone to casual dismemberment than most Jetii are.

“Captain,” Obi-Wan’s response is particularly grim. “Unless you’re here to tell me you’ve changed your mind, I don’t have the time for this.”

Jango looks across at Rex. He really _has_ missed something.

“No, sir,” Captain Gillmunn says firmly. “I'm not. And with the greatest respect-” Funny how people who say that usually follow up by showing no respect at all. “But you don’t have the authority to stop me.”

“Oh, I have the authority,” Obi-Wan says coldly. “Just not the manpower. I will say this again, Captain: I refuse to authorize any mission, be that undertaken by your men or mine, in the Northern Hemisphere.”

“My men know the area,” Captain Gillmunn argues.

And this is Obi-Wan’s problem. Gillmunn, purely by merit of being the last officer standing, leads the few local Jabiim troops still loyal to the Republic. For him, this is personal. It’s about pride and history and local status.

For the rest of them, it’s about survival.

“We cannot afford to divide our forces,” Obi-Wan says firmly. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Captain: you do not have the numbers needed to launch an assault on the Separatist's defensive positions and I will not commit my men to a course of action that would be a pyrrhic victory at best. Asajj Ventress has turned your people firmly against the Republic and that will not change without open communication. Our only path to victory is through negotiation, not needless sacrifice.”

“You would waste time bandying words-”

Maybe Jango just knows Obi-Wan too well, but he can’t understand how _anyone_ can fail to miss the cold fury brewing in his eyes.

“I would preserve life!” Obi-Wan snaps, his temper sharp and terrifying in its scarcity. “Now if you don’t mind, Captain, I have work to do. You are dismissed.”

Without further word, Obi-Wan turns his attention back to the war table.

This is where Cody - or Anakin - would step in and finish off any lingering stupidity with a stone-cold glare.

Neither are present, but Rex is. Reluctantly, Gillmunn stalks out of the room.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Jango moves close enough for his elbow to brush Obi-Wan’s. “Don’t suppose it’s an appropriate time to tell you how hot that was?” he asks, his words disguised in Mando’a. Obi-Wan’s answering glare flickers around the edges. “Noted.”

“Is Anakin alright?” Obi-Wan asks him softly.

Jango aches with the need to hold him. “He’ll be back on his feet and driving you crazy in no time.” Obi-Wan nods. Closes his eyes, and sighs. When he opens them again, his focus is renewed. “You think you can convince the rebels to talk?” He doesn’t ask if Obi-Wan can negotiate a truce: if a dialogue begins, he knows the Jetii will get what he wants out of it. It’s crossing that first hurdle.

“I have to,” Obi-Wan says. “We can’t push forward and we can’t hold this position indefinitely.”

“Then get it done, _n’edee.”_

 _“_ Such faith in me,” Obi-Wan doesn’t smile, but he does release his hold on some of that ice.

“I left Boba unsupervised with the rest of the 212th,” Jango shakes his head wryly. “If we don’t pick up the pace there won’t be a base on Handooine left to retreat to.”

“That is a very valid point,” Obi-Wan snorts. “I suppose I better make contact. You’ll keep an eye on Anakin and Ahsoka for me?”

“If you take Rex with you,” Jango agrees. His presence is only going to complicate matters, but he trusts the young Captain to protect Obi-Wan as fiercely as Jango would himself.

“Like I’d ever be able to face Cody again if he didn't,” Rex gets in pointedly before Obi-Wan can protest. “Where you go, I go, General.”

Finally, a faint smile. “Very well then,” he says. “Lieutenant-” the trooper closest to them bolts up straight.

“Sir!”

“Send out a transmission to Commander Stratus and the Nationalists. Tell him Obi-Wan Kenobi wishes to speak to him.”


	15. Chapter 15

There’s an old saying on Mandalore: _Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc._ 'Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones you can't'. Right now, they’re facing both.

Jango’s been awake for pushing fifty hours, powered by stims, spite, and pure irritation. With Obi-Wan occupied in making contact with the rebel forces, and with no authorized attacks on the books, Jango makes the foolish error of thinking he’s clear to catch just a kriffing _hour_ of sleep.

Which goes to show how much the universe personally wants to fuck him up the ass because no sooner than his eyes are closing, the entire kriffing base explodes.

He jerks violently out of a light slumber, still dressed head to toe in armor, to find the barracks on fire around him. Troopers are making a quick evacuation, training kicking in where terror might usually override instinct, but dozens of them are already burning. The building isn’t built for the mass exodus of a thousand men, the exits quickly becoming a pen of bodies ripe for the slaughter.

Jango rolls into action the second his brain wakes the fuck up.

“Down!” He barks, unclipping a grenade from his belt and solving the problem by blowing a hole in the closest wall. He hauls two shinies with him, quickly handing them off to a passing medic before taking a split second to try to understand what the _kriffing hells_ is happening.

It should be dark, but the world is burning so brightly that the stars themselves are blinkered out of sight. All around them are the dull roars of incoming carriers, the ringing explosions of canons, and the pained cries of dying men.

Among the unfolding chaos, Jango spots a tall, familiar figure. “Gillmunn!” he shouts sprinting to the captain's side. “Where the kriffing hells are your men? They’re supposed to be on _watch!”_ The only people Jango can see are his echoes. There’s no sign at all of Gillmunn’s loyalist troops.

Gillmunn turns, almost surprised to see Jango. When he looks back around, it’s with the expression of a man who isn’t sure what is happening or why. “I sent them away,” he says faintly. “I...” he shakes himself firmly. “All we had to do was break their defenses!”

 _All_ , he says. Jango pulls his blaster.

“You disobeyed orders!” He's furious on Obi-Wan's behalf. No. No, he's terrified on Obi-Wan's behalf. He's furious on his own. He should've killed this shleb the second he started pushing against the chain of command.

Gillmunn rages, spit flying in anger as he advances on Jango. “If that cowardly piece of shit had just _listened_ -”

Jango’s shot people for far less serious offenses than insulting his husband. This? This is kriffing deserved. Gillmunn falls at his feet, his eyes wide and vacant. Jango never misses his target.

If the shabuir is telling the truth, they’re down to a third of their forces. And if he sent his men out while Obi-Wan was desperately negotiating for their lives, then he’s left them undefended and unprepared.

This isn’t going to be a battle. It’s going to be a bloodbath.

There are no senior officers in sight. Many of them, like Cody, have been injured in earlier battles. The rest, like Rex, are on the other side of the complex.

The side that’s taking the heaviest fire.

Looks like he’s it.

Most of these men are too young to know him, but they recognize his voice as he moves through them, shouting out orders and organizing their defense as best he can. They obey without question, the panic of the surprise attack quickly reeling in once someone takes control. 

It’s not long before he gets a good look at the enemy. The majority of the advancing army are droids, but they aren’t Jango’s concern. Bulking up the vastly superior number of rebels is the notoriously brutal Nimbus Commando Unit. While most of the Jabiimi Nationalists are everyday people who've been dragged into the conflict by their leaders, these shabuir are elite. They’re as well trained as many of the clone troopers. Better trained than some of the youngsters.

And they’re cutting through the defenses with precise, _informed_ accuracy. They know exactly who and what they are facing, and they know how to outmaneuver them.

Yesterday, Jango thought Jabiim might be worse than Concord Dawn. Today, he has a new assessment.

This is his new Galidraan.

He’s not leading people he’s grown up with, men and women he admires and who admire him in return. He’s leading children. His children. His clones, his _sons_. And they are rushing in bravely, protected only by the stubborn determination of another group of kids.

At the main gate, the Jedi Padawans are holding the line. Holding back the onslaught. Buying them time. They’re physically young in the way Jango’s echoes aren’t, but the fear he saw in them before the fight is nowhere to be found. Without thought, question or hesitation, they have stepped up, stepped between their troops and the enemy, and are willing to die to save as many of them as they can.

The sight of them lines up in Jango’s mind against the Knights who cut down his family, the two scenes so starkly contrasted, and yet...

He believes in Obi-Wan more than he believes in anyone. More than he believes in himself. And these children are doing what Obi-Wan has so often done.

He’s kept a kernel of hatred close to his heart, just the same as Anakin. Obi-Wan’s never tried to take it from him, respecting his right to the pain that haunts him. In return, Jango has allowed some of that freely given light to seep into his soul. It’s warmed him, sheltered him, and healed him. But Obi-Wan has always been the exception. Always been an outlier. A shining beacon of light at the heart of a morally bankrupt order.

Watching these children fight so ferociously to protect men that, on file at least, hold less value to the Senate than the lightsabers in their hands...

Now is not the kriffing time for an epiphany, but when he’s done shooting things...

 _Fuck_.

Jango reaches the padawans at the same time as three members of Rex’s unit. It’s not soon enough to stop two of them falling, their small bodies riddled with more blaster bolts than even a seasoned Master could deflect. There were twenty, yesterday. Now there are eight still standing.

“Ahsoka!” Jango moves to the girl’s side. She’s holding her own, her features set and focused, and Jango doesn’t _know_ her, but kriffing hells, he’s proud anyway. “Where’s Obi-Wan?”

He should be here. He’d never let the padawans stand alone, not unless he was fighting another battle. His absence is terrifying.

“I don’t know!” She cries, still focused on the fight. “I can’t feel him!”

He still doesn’t understand the way Jetii bonds work - Obi-Wan and Anakin have one, and he guesses Anakin and Ahsoka do - but if she sounds scared, he’s dialing up his own fear.

“Move!” He barks, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her out of the way of a cannon blast. They both hit their knees hard. Jango rolls, raises his bracer, and fires the last of his heavy weapons.

“There’s too many of them!” One of the other padawans cry. “What do we do?”

Jango is about to answer when Anakin’s voice screams across the field of battle.

“GET DOWN!”

Jango’s not about to question anyone who sounds like that, not when he knows what Anakin is capable of. Both he and Ahsoka hit the mud, grabbing the other children and flinging them out of the way. Not a second too soon.

Jango can’t see what Anakin does, not this time, but he can _feel_ the weight of power that passes over his head. It’s hot, crackling with static energy, and the sound of its impact is deafening.

Blistering hot shrapnel pours down on them in a deadly rain. He moves to shelter Ahsoka and as many of the padawans as he can, only to be met with a shaky smile as Ahsoka protects them all with a protective bubble of the Force. That’s... real handy. He nods his head in thanks.

“Snips!” Jango’s unceremoniously hauled off the ground and dumped on his feet, an undignified split second of time when he’s taken aback by both Anakin’s strength and sheer kriffing cheek. Then Ahsoka is dragged carefully into Anakin’s protective sphere and yeah, Jango would be the same if it were Boba.

“Master!”

Anakin’s presence brings with it a flair of renewed energy and focus from the padawans, each of them looking at him like...

...well, like he’s just punched a twenty-foot hole in the advancing offense with his kriffing _mind_. If not for his _buy'ce,_ Jango’d probably be looking at him in exactly the same way: he is officially glad Anakin is on their side.

“I’ve called the retreat,” Anakin announces. He’s speaking to all of them, but his attention is mostly on Jango. He’s calm, confident even, but with Obi-Wan’s absence, Jango is somehow the next point of authority. He admittedly has more experience with clusterfucks like this, if nothing else.

“It’s gonna take time to evac the garrison,” Jango points out. “We don’t have that long.”

The command center is little more than rubble. The barracks and armory have fared no better. They’re down to two watchtowers, a flimsy defensive perimeter, and half dozen shuttles.

“Where’s the General?” Hardcase is the first to ask Anakin the question that they’re all thinking. He has a bond with Obi-Wan. If anyone knows, it’ll be him.

Anakin’s jaw clenches, and the ground falls out from beneath Jango’s feet. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Jango demands furiously.

Anakin twitches, every line of his body coiled for violence. He’s frightening in his coldness and intimidating in a way he has no kriffing right to be. Jango’s son spent an entire afternoon hanging from Anakin’s neck like a python for the love of the gods. He’s _Anakin._ Fire and anger and an indomitable will, but not a _threat_.

At least not to his family. Not unless...

“No.” Jango says, shaking his head.

The boys are looking at one another, confused and increasingly worried. The padawans are tense again, fidgeting and cringing at the sound of battle around them, and, fuck, a new wave of assault is only moments away, but-

Obi-Wan isn’t here.

This is his place. At the heart of the battle. On the front. Pushing harder and faster, the arrowhead of carefully controlled violence that defines a Jetii in war.

“I can’t feel him,” Anakin says. His voice is flat. Devoid of feeling, detached from the world. They’re the same words Ahsoka spoke, but they hit in a completely different way.

A canon explodes in the distance. Mortar rains from above.

“Pull back,” Jango says to Anakin. “There’s no winning this, but if we’re gonna buy enough time to get everyone out we need to bottleneck their forces.”

Anakin is already nodding. “Get the wounded to the ships,” he barks to the troopers. “Leave me anything you have that makes a kriffing bang.”

“Sir!” Shouts ring out as one.

“Scan the wreckage,” Jango adds. “There might be people trapped.”

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can,” Anakin promises.

Jango turns to join the padawans who are pulling back to a more defensible position. He’s already moving when Anakin grabs him by the arm. “Find him,” he says, a crack in that lifeless mask, terror and rage bubbling below the surface. “I can’t _feel_ him.”

Jango clasps his arm tightly. “I will,” he vows.

He’s not leaving here without him, that’s for kriffing sure

The main body of the station is destroyed beyond recognition, leveled in many places, and burning in others. Making his way to the command center, to Obi-Wan’s last known location, requires careful use of his jetpack.

Once inside, Jango has to ignore the pounding of his heartbeat in his ear.

So many fallen. _So many dead_.

The bodies are burned beyond all recognition. He can’t tell if they once were troopers or Jetii, the heat of the explosion stripping clothing and flesh from charred bone. He’s seen this before, seen worse, only...

He pushes on. This would be so much easier if he could just fling the rubble around with his mind like a Jetii, but he knows they can’t be spared. Obi-Wan is in here somewhere, he knows it, and they’ll need a clear path to the shuttles if Jango’s going to get him the medical help he needs.

And then, oh, _and then_... then he’s never letting Obi-Wan out of his sight. Not for a second. Not for one single heartbeat.

“Where are you, _N’edee?”_ he asks, hoping that by saying the words out loud, Obi-Wan might hear. Might call back.

Not that Jango could hear him, not with so much noise around them.

No, no he’s depending on his ridiculous Jetii to reach out with his all-powerful Force and _kriffing tell Jango where he is._ What’s the point in being physic if-

His foot hits something solid. It’s small and rolls a little before stopping to rest against a burnt, mangled pair of corpses and the charred mound of what might once have been the war table.

He knows what it is before he even bends down, but holds Obi-Wan’s lightsaber in front of him as though he’s never seen it before.

It’s badly damaged. The delicate parts of it are warped in places, caked in something that cracks and crumbles under Jango’s touch.

it’s impossible to _smell_ blood among the burned flesh and fire, but he knows that’s what it is.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. Obi-Wan’s blood.

Which means-

He turns back to the burned corpses, something snapping in his heart as he tries to connect his vibrant, beautiful _riduur_ to...to _that_...to...

No. _No_.

Obi-Wan isn’t supposed to _die_. Not like this. Not... not _now._ Not so senselessly. He’s not supposed to die ever, far more likely to look Death square in the face and politely ask if they can please reschedule, he's just far too busy right now.

He’s supposed to die old and peaceful, surrounded by people who love him, or at Jango’s side doing something reckless and dangerous and wonderful.

But Anakin can’t feel him, and for all they tease him, Obi-Wan would never lose his lightsaber in a fight like this. If he were alive, he’d be with the children, with Anakin, with his troops...

Jango looks at the second body.

Rex.

Something shuts down inside of him.

He can dimly make out the sound of approaching voices - Jabiimi orders shouted back and forth as the enemy floods through the Republic’s last stand. If they’re here, it means they’ve broken through Anakin’s defense. It means Jango has failed to save Obi-Wan’s boy just as he’s failed to save any of his own.

So maybe... maybe this isn’t so far off his expectation. Obi-Wan is dead, yes, but Jango can still die beside him.

To take off your _buy'ce_ in battle is to invite death, but Jango wants to die looking at Obi-Wan with his own eyes. He kneels, places Obi-Wan’s lightsaber carefully inside his _buy'ce,_ and holds both on his lap. He doesn’t have anything of Rex’s.

He doesn’t know the names of the other dead troopers.

The voices move closer.

He’s not afraid. He’s not about to weep. His echoes will find their way to Manda, to the collective consciousness of the oversoul. The Mando'ade don’t believe in an afterlife the way many do. When they die, they become one in Manda. Together, always united.

And the Jetii, they become one with the Force.

Their two peoples have always been in conflict, always been at odds, but he thinks - hopes - that in this it is merely a matter of them painting the same picture with different brushes.

Either Obi-Wan will find him in Manda, or he will find Obi-Wan in the Force, and they will never be parted. Not again.

“ _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”_

It’s not a vow Jango was able to make when marrying Obi-Wan in the past, but it’s the vow of his heart and he whispers it to himself now as he waits for oblivion.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.” The burning air makes the words harder to speak but pushes on anyway. Each breath tastes of ash and fire, consuming him from the inside. If the Jabiimi don’t kill him, the air likely will. He doesn’t care which. “We are one when together.” How long has it been since he held Obi-Wan in his arms? “We are one when parted.” He closes his eyes. How many years has he _wasted_? “We will share all. We will raise-” he chokes, tears drying on his skin moments after they fall. “We will raise warriors.”

_Boba._

He can’t leave Boba.

He can’t _abandon_ him like he has the others.

“OBI-WAN!”

Anakin appears, a black silhouette against a bloodstained sky, and the world starts to shake beneath Jango’s knees.

He’s alive. Obi-Wan’s boy is alive.

Then, besides him, little Ahsoka joins them. They’re both shaking, covered in blood, Ahsoka’s fear and Anakin’s blossoming rage feeding off each other in a circle that can only end one way.

He can’t let them die here. He can’t fail Obi-Wan again.

He swears he can hear Obi-Wan’s voice in his ear, soft with the faint memory of his kiss. “ _On your feet, darling. A Mando should never die on his knees._ ”

 _“_ Master Obi-Wan... Rex...” Ahsoka cries for all of them.

_Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum._

Jango gets to his feet. They have to leave.

Anakin almost barrels him over trying to get to his Master. “Obi-Wan! _No!_ Obi-Wan.”

Jango isn’t stupid enough to think he can take the boy in a fair fight, but then he’s never let a little thing like cheating stop him. He grabs Anakin tightly with one hand and shakes him hard. “The girl,” he snaps. “You have to look after Ahsoka!”

The grief that strips Anakin’s young face bare is almost more than Jango can handle. His heart has yet to start beating again, his lungs heavy in his chest. This might be what dying feels like, but he can’t stop. Not yet.

“She needs you! Your brothers need you!” And then, because he has the ammunition to destroy Anakin if that’s what it takes to save his life, he growls. “Do _not_ let him down again!”

Anakin recoils as if struck, awareness sharpening his focus as he looks down on Ahsoka. He gives Jango one sharp nod.

“The last ship is waiting,” he says, closing off again behind that wall of ice.

“Then let’s go,” Jango says.

He doesn’t turn back. Not once. Obi-Wan isn’t there anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

“Wake up, little clone... there’s no point pretending: I _see you_.”

There _is_ no point pretending. Not with Ventress. But there’s also no point in responding, either.

And Rex’s exhausted.

It’s morning. He thinks. It’s hard to keep an accurate account of anything in his cell, let alone time. Tracking Ventress’s comings and goings only gets him so far - there’s no rhyme or reason to the times of her visits. She comes to see him when she pleases. When she’s not pre-occupied with the General.

The rest of the time, Rex is left at the tender mercy of her torture droids.

At least when he’s with her he can scream his defiance, he can cling to what little dignity he has left. The droids don’t care what he does, what he says, or how much he begs. They’re not programmed to ask questions. Just to inflict pain.

And they never need to sleep.

Sharp fingernails scrape across his scalp as Ventress lifts his head high enough to meet his gaze. She’s fascinated with his hair - his deformity, as she calls it. Proof that he’s dysfunctional.

“There we are,” she says, smiling with all of her sharp teeth on display. “You’re starting to make me think you don’t like me.”

“But we have so much in common,” he wheezes, hating the way she laughs and lets his head fall back.

“I do like you, slave,” she muses. “You’re almost as fun as darling Obi-Wan.” She’s goading him and has been since they got here. The one time Rex asked about the General, her response was to patch a comm line into his cell. She played Obi-Wan’s screams on loop for two days. Rex hasn’t asked since.

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks coyly. “Surely you must’ve changed your mind by now. You know no one is coming for him. They think he’s dead. And you, dear, they wouldn’t waste time even thinking about rescuing you.”

She’s only asked him one thing since coming here. One question. And it’s not even about the kriffing war.She’s not asking for access codes or locations, she’s not asking for intelligence of any kind.

Only one thing.

“Do you want to be free, little clone?”

“Captain. CT-7567. 501st Legion.” It's all he says. All he allows himself to say. Especially when he wants so badly to say _yes_. 

“I’m getting tired of this,” Ventress sighs. “You are _nothing_ to them. You were made to be disposable. Cannon fodder, like all your poor brothers that died on Jabiim. Why cling to loyalty that’s not returned? You’re alive because I will it. You can be free - if I will it.”

“Captain. CT-7567. 501st Legion.”

She steps back. “Perhaps I’ve been too easy on you?”

Okay, he’s gotta laugh at that. Struggling to raise his head, he lifts an eyebrow and looks sardonically at his cell.

He’s bound in a metal contraption that keeps his arms and legs firmly encased, his back arched forward in a way that sends spasms of fire down his spine as muscles protest violently against the stress position.

But yeah. Sure. Easy.

He’s been trained for this. For torture. Taught all the ways to resist interrogation. To die, if necessary, before betraying the GAR. Before betraying his brothers.

Death before dishonor.

Only this... _Ventress_...nothing he endured on Kamino even comes close. Jango designed that training. Rex doesn't think Jango could ever do anything like _this_ to anyone. And not... not them. 

Ventress slinks closer, the languid sway of her hips making him squirm uncomfortably in his bonds. She knows he hates it, although even he can't say _why_. It’s more than likely why she does it.

“It’s alright, little clone,” she purrs. “I’m on your side, remember? I want freedom. For myself. For the galaxy. So do all in the Confederacy.”

“Captain. CT-7567. 501st Legion.”

“Yes, yes...” She steps back and shakes her head, then withdraws a small jar from inside the pockets of her long gown. “Do you know what these are?” He doesn’t, but of course, she’s going to tell him. “They don’t really have a name, not one you could pronounce anyway.” She holds the jar up to his face and lets him take a long look at the creatures crawling inside. They’re small, fat little grubs, wiggling and writhing over each in a mindless, squirming mass. Just the sight of them makes his stomach clench. “They like to eat human flesh,” she says. “Human muscle, specifically. They burrow their way inside, latch on to all these, hmm-” he reaches up and squeezes his bicep suggestively, “yummy little bundles of strength, and then they gnaw their little hearts out. It’s exquisitely painful. Quite maddening. Like being eaten alive. Oh, it’s not fatal,” she assures, seeing Rex’s shudder of repulsion. “They’ll gorge themselves to death in a few days and we’ll have to start the process all over again. A big, strong boy like you... I think we could get a good few months worth of meals out of you.”

“C-captain. CT-7567. 501st Legion.”

He’s just one life. He’s not special. He’s not important. He has nothing of value. He is nothing of value. No matter what she does. Even... even that.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Ventress whispers into his ear. “I’m feeling generous. Take today to think about it. I’ll even let you see your beloved General-” he flinches away from her in shock. “Yes,” she promises. “I’ll let you see how unworthy he is of your loyalty. And then tomorrow, when I ask you again, you can decide. Me. Or our little friends.” The grubs in the jar roll over each other as she shakes them. “Does that seem fair?”

Rex, may his brothers forgive him, nods his head wordlessly.

Immediately, Ventress steps back and snaps her long fingers. The machine holding him in place lets him fall to the ground, two droids yanking him up to his feet and forcing his aching arms into tight manacles behind his back.

“Do give dear Obi-Wan my love,” Ventress smiles, stepping back to leave the door to the cell unguarded. "I don't have time to play with him today, and I don't want him to think I've forgotten him."

The droids shove him forwards, uncaring when he stumbles, and march him down towards the end of a long corridor.

Castle Ventress, as she’s called it, is less a castle than a prison. It’s lower levels are packed with cells, each one home to a screaming, shrieking voice of anguish.

If there is a hell, Rex is in it now.

The droids escort him to a door at the very far end of the corridor. It’s heavy and solid, exactly the kind of cell he’d expect to see a prisoner like a Jedi be kept in.

Then the door slides open.

If Rex feels like he’s been used as a chew toy for a gundark and shit out the other end then he really doesn’t have the words to describe the state Obi-Wan is in.

This is going to break his family's _hearts._

Like Rex, he’s been stripped down to his underclothes. They’ve strung him up, each arm extended to its limit, fastened with heavy manacles that hold him fully exposed and vulnerable, his toes barely brushing the ground below him. Above his head, a broken water pipe leaks frigid water onto his shoulders, leaving his ashen, bruised skin utterly frigid. The sight of him is grotesque, his body wasted and brutalized, but it’s no less than Rex has really been expecting given his own accommodation.

What’s frightening, what he doesn’t _understand_ , is the heavy, intricately embossed hood that’s tied tightly around Obi-Wan’s head. It covers every part of his face except his eyes. Rex can’t understand how he can _breathe_ in it, let alone answer an interrogation. He’s not even sure how well he can hear; he doesn’t lift his head at the sound of the door opening.

A firm shove to the small of Rex’s back sends him stumbling into the room, his weak, disused muscles protesting violently before giving way and planting painfully facefirst onto the sold metal floor. With his arms bound so tightly behind him, he has no way of saving himself and tastes blood as his nose breaks. Again. Kriff, maybe if he hits himself in the face enough it’ll straighten the damn thing back out.

He’s groaning by the time the door closes, but though he hurts in a way he’s not sure will _ever_ stop, the calcification in his chest fractures and eases just by being in Obi-Wan’s presence. For the first time since they brought him here, he has something to focus on other than pain and terror.

“General?” He doesn’t want to shout, doesn’t want to frighten Obi-Wan, but he’s no idea how else to get his attention. It’s not like he has a free hand to touch him. Even if he did, he’s not sure _where_ he could without hurting him.

But Obi-Wan slowly raises his head, his bruised eyes blinking lethargically open. And when they focus on Rex...

No one has ever looked at Rex like Obi-Wan does. Like his sheer presence makes the world better. He makes a broken, muffled sound behind the mask; Rex’s _name_. It’s barely comprehensible, but after three weeks of _slave_ and _clone_ , the sound of his own name might actually make him kriffing cry.

He stumbles forward, shoulders straining as he fights the cuffs. This is a whole new cruelty to endure, each futile attempt met with a spark of electricity that runs up his arms and across his shoulders. He’ll lose feeling long before he can break through them. Choking back the pain, he hears Obi-Wan trying to soothe him. It’s an impossible venture, and from the blood trickling out from under the edges of the hood it cleary is causing him agony to even try it.

“I’m okay,” Rex rushes to reassure him. “Maybe not okay. Alive? That’s a positive, right? I mean, I might not be after my next interrogation but... but I should stop talking. Gods, sir, it’s good to see you. You look terrible. I’m stopping. Talking.”

He’s never considered himself a rambler, but in fairness, his dialogue these past few weeks has mostly consisted of his rank, serial number, and a collection of Anakin Skywalker’s finest swearwords.

Obi-Wan jerks his chin, a gesture Rex doesn’t understand until he then rattles his chained wrists as well.

“Turn around?” Rex asks, relieved when Obi-Wan nods. He obliges, not sure what good it will do either of them. He can’t free Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan can’t free him.

Which... doesn’t explain why Obi-Wan swings his foot out until he can hit Rex’s thigh, or why he tries to use it as a brace to...

Oh.

His first thought, that the strain on Obi-Wan’s shoulders must be agony and _of course_ he’d want to try and relieve it, is quickly replaced as he looks up and sees just what Obi-Wan is trying to do.

“I am officially giving you every drop of the moonshine we don’t brew in Engineering,” Rex breathes, somewhere between delirious and awestruck as Obi-Wan manages to haul himself up and place booth of his cold, bare feet against Rex’s thigh. And then stand.

The pipe above his head, the one contributing to his torment by dripping freezing water on him, runs between the chains he is hanging from. The crack, though too small to completely break, is just big enough that when Obi-Wan then jumps _back_ off Rex, the sudden jerk of his weight tears open a wider hole. Water gushes through it, anding ice-cold insult to significant injury.

Both the effort and sudden pressure on his shoulders draws a muffled cry of pain from Obi-Wan. His eyes ficker, more bloodshot white than blue, and for a second Rex is afraid he’s going to pass out.

“Hang on,” Rex whispers urgently. “Stay with me.” He turns around until he can put his back to the downpour of water. Bracing for the painful flair of electricity, the cuffs make one final surge before shorting out and falling open.

He only bothers to free one wrist before he’s moving to Obi-Wan’s side, his shoulder under the Jedi’s arm in an attempt to reduce the strain on his arms. Obi-Wan’s head rolls until their foreheads touch.

“I’ll get us out of here,” Rex vows. “Just-” he can’t stay supporting Obi-Wan’s weight and try and unfasten the cuffs. “I need to let you go. Just a few more minutes.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

Rex isn’t prepared for that. Gods, he can’t add to Obi-Wan’s hurt. The idea burns at the back of his eyes. “Just...just for a minute. Half a minute. Please, sir, I need to get you down.”

He waits, wasting precious seconds, until Obi-Wan nods. Then it only takes a minute to see why Obi-Wan shook his head: the manacles are welded shut. There’s no lock to pick or hinge to break. Rex has to bite back a sob of frustration.

Okay. Okay, that’s a complication. They can still make this work. He’s got this. He’s just gotta...

The mask. There’s no lock fastening _that_ closed around Obi-Wan’s head, just old fashioned laces. Rex’s fingers are alternately numb and painfully hot as he struggles to make them work. They catch in Obi-Wan’s tangled, dirty hair, in knots he ends up having to pull apart in order to loosen the mask.

He peels it off as carefully as he can, terrified of what he’ll find. “Okay, here we go.” He has to try and be reassuring, imagining what Obi-Wan might say to _him_ if their positions were reversed.

Dried blood makes it hard to ease the tough hide away from skin, but Rex is as gentle as he can be. When it finally falls free, the only thing he can do to stop himself from crying is to say, “I think you probably looked better with the mask on.” Even that somehow seems like a kindness: Obi-Wan looks more corpse than person. But his lashes flutter closed in a pained expression of bliss and serenity. The mask is more than just an instrument of physical torture; it was cutting Obi-Wan off from the Force.

He’s been around Jedi to know just how much of a torment that is.

There’s something hard wedged behind Obi-Wan’s teeth; a small metal disk designed to stop him from swallowing his own tongue. Rex’s stomach rolls violently as he eases it free, fresh blood winding slowly down from the corners of bruised, swollen lips.

How long has he been wearing it? Too long. He can tell that by the way Obi-Wan struggles to form words, broken sounds and pained wheezes of air finally arranging themselves into something cohesive. “ _Rex_ ,” he gasps, tears overflowing. “She...she said... dead. All dead.” The focus fades from his gaze, the effort of their activities more than he can endure.

“No!” Rex cups his bruised cheeks, too afraid to be as gentle as he should be. “No, no! One hundred percent alive.” Maybe closer to eighty percent, but no need to tell Obi-Wan that. 

“Anakin...”

In truth, Rex has no idea if Anakin is alive. If Jango is. Kriff, if anyone made it off that cursed planet. He can’t _lie_ to Obi-Wan, but he can’t stand to offer him _nothing,_ either. “If she lied about me,” he says firmly, “then she’s lying about the others. They’ll be _fine_. Cody’ll be losing his kriffing mind trying to keep everyone in line and Skywalker will have set at least one ship on fire. We need to get you back to them.”

“Hmm,” a faint smile pulls at Obi-Wan’s bruised mouth.

“The cuffs,” Rex encourages, trying to get him to focus. “Can you open them?”

“The Force is so _dark_ here.”

“I know. That’s why we should be elsewhere. Anywhere. I’d take one of Kix’s lectures over this.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, blinking hard. “He’s going to be very.... very cross.”

“He’ll be even more pissed if we die here,” Rex points out. “The cuffs, General.”

The longer Obi-Wan takes to focus, the more afraid Rex becomes. He’s seen Obi-Wan fight through injuries that would cripple another man. Even Boba joked about how hard it was to keep him adequately drugged. Whatever they’ve done to him, it can’t be good.

“Cuffs? Oh-”

And pop. The metal buckles and shatters. Obi-Wan falls straight into Rex’s arms, and Rex...

Isn’t as strong as he thinks he is. Or should be. Obi-Wan is almost emaciated in his arms, but the weeks of torture have robbed him of his own strength to the point where it’s a struggle to hold them both upright.

“Apologies,” Obi-Wan says, because of course he’s trying to use big kriffing words already. “It seems my little trick with the water rather wore me out.”

No kidding. Obi-Wan can’t even get his feet under him. “Have they fed you at all since we got here?” Rex demands. It sure as shit doesn’t _feel_ like it. Cody’s going to have a kriffing aneurysm. And _Jango..._

The idea of setting Jango on Ventress, or better, Jango and _Anakin_ , fills him with the kind of spiteful fire that makes it a fraction easier to start moving them to the door.

“Not food,” Obi-Wan says. A violent, jarring shudder runs through his frame, and just when Rex is about to ask him what he means, he feels something _move_ under the flimsi-thin skin of Obi-Wan’s arm.

Oh _fuck_ no...

Well, no wonder he can barely walk if Ventress used her kriffing torture maggots on him.

He should’ve broken free sooner. He should’ve done _something_. Keeping the Jedi safe his job, his sole kriffing purpose for existing, and what has he spent the past three weeks doing? Crying and feeling sorry for himself while Obi-Wan’s being kriffing _eaten alive_. What fucking use is he? He’s not fit for purpose. He’s not worthy of the trust that’s been put in him. He’s not—

“...Rex. Look at me, ad’ika, come on...focus on my voice...”

“ _I’mfine_ ,” Rex mumbles, cracking through the surface of a panic that’s clawed it’s way up his throat.

“Of course you are, dear one,” Obi-Wan says gently. “You’ve been very brave.”

The absurdity of being treated with kid gloves by _Obi-Wan_ of all people forces a bark of laughter from his chest. “I didn't even try and stop her.”

“Of course you did,” Obi-Wan says kindly. “Ventress is Sith trained, Rex. She can pull answers right from your mind if she chooses to.”

“Then why-” why leave him at the mercy of those droids for so long? Why torture him? Why keep him alive at all?

Obi-Wan raises a shaking hand and opens the door to the cell. “I’m afraid I’ve dragged you into some very unpleasent personal business,” he says regretfully. “Please forgive me.”

“Sir?” Rex asks, balancing as much of Obi-Wan’s weight as he can manage as they stumble together for the door. “Permission to speak freely?”

Some of his trademark sass is blossoming in Obi-Wan’s eyes once more. He flicks his gaze down at their combined state of battered dishevelment and fixes on a wry smile. “I think we’re a bit past the point of asking permission.”

Right then. “Shut the fuck up,” Rex says.

To his surprise, Obi-Wan just sighs. “I knew Jango would be a bad example.”

They stumble together out into the corridor. Rex has no idea which way is out and desperately wants to ask if Obi-Wan has some kind of psychic GPS going for him. He’ll probably just say ‘that’s not how the Force works’ and then they’ll find their way out anyway. Might as well skip to the part where they’re not here.

Sure enough, Obi-Wan nudges him in one direction.

“That one came from Anakin,” Rex says, trying to keep their spirits up almost as much as he is trying to keep Obi-Wan’s eyes open and focused. “He says he heard it from you.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, his voice fading. “Yes, I suppose he would say that.” He leans further into Rex’s shoulder, barely able to walk at all now. If Rex wasn’t so weak, he’d carry him. He knows he can’t. “You should... you should go,” Obi-Wan mumbles. “I can make a distraction, draw the guards away. You should...”

His eyes close again, and they don’t open.

So Rex shakes him until they kriffing _do_. Fuck pain. If he’s hurting, he’s not kriffing dead.

“You really want me to have to tell Anakin Skywalker that I _left_ you here?” Obi-Wan stares at him, his pupils wide and struggling to focus on Rex’s face. “I would _literally rather set myself on fire.”_

Save Anakin the kriffing job.

Obi-Wan screws his eyes shut. Blinks them open. _Forces_ himself to focus. Rex isn’t even a little sensitive to the Jedi’s wonderous abilities, but he can feel the way Obi-Wan no longer has to lean so much against him.

“You know,” he says softly, “you’re very much like your father.”

Oh, that’s not something he’s even remotely equipped to deal with right now.

“Handsome and charming and an excellent shot?’ he jokes instead.

Obi-Wan then rolls his eyes. “Melodramatic as fuck,” he says bluntly, startling a laugh from Rex. “Come on then, let’s go give Ventress our regards.”


	17. Chapter 17

The robe is far too big for him. It’s been made for a man significantly taller than Jango - certainly bigger than Obi-Wan. It was neatly folded in the small, barely used storage closet at the foot of Obi-Wan’s bed, and if he had to make a guess, Jango’d say it once belonged to Qui-Gon Jinn.

So he pictures Obi-Wan doing what he’s doing now - curling up on the small bunk, wrapped in the warm, heavy folds of the soft, worn fabric, desperately seeking the comfort of a loved one - and feels as connected to him as it’s possible to feel.

The fact that Obi-Wan still has his Master’s cloak after all these years fills him with a sadness he can’t quite define, but he’s grateful of the comfort he’s able to take from it.

Obi-Wan’s grief for Qui-Gon has lasted over a decade. Jango wonders how much longer his own will haunt him.

He can’t sleep. He might never be able to sleep again. Every time he closes his eyes he jolts awake moments later to the sound of his boys screaming, and the knowledge that _he should’ve been with Obi-Wan_ when the bombs fell. He knows he did the right thing in leaving with Anakin and Ahsoka, knows he did exactly what Obi-Wan would want - expect - him to do, and he’s grateful, really that they’re all alive. That he still has the chance to hold his Boba, that he’ll get to see him grow.

But, and it’s a secret he’ll share only with Obi-Wan’s memory, he’s more than a little bitter that he’s had to choose. If he’d been at Obi-Wan’s side that day, fate would’ve done the job for him.

Bitterness is a close friend now. Bitterness and self-pity. He’s getting what he deserves, after all. Suffering the way he made Obi-Wan suffer when he faked his own death. The last time they were in this bed together, he held his _riduur_ in his arms and thanked the galaxy for blessing him.

The fall has been crippling in every kriffing way.

The door chimes, forcing him out of his misery. It won’t be Boba; he’d just walk in, and Anakin hasn’t left the bridge of the Negotiator since their return to Handooine. One of the boys, then. He sits up, folds the robe carefully away, and opens the door.

“Mr Fett? Sir?” The trooper on the other side is Fives. Only a few months out of training. Young and eager to prove himself. And, like the others, silently devastated by the events on Jabiim. “The Sarge said to tell you that the Commander is awake now, sir.”

Breathtaking relief collides with sickening cowardice. Cody’s been in bacta for over a week, the severity of his injuries demanding Coric keep him under a full twenty-four hours beyond the cutoff point. There’s nothing that officially states a clone trooper should be denied medical treatment if his recovery is set to be costly, and for one as extensively trained and highly decorated as Cody it’s unlikely that the topic would ever be raised. But it’s been lurking in the back of Jango’s mind, regardless. Each day another step closer to a world where Cody might never wake up. And that someone might decide it’s not worth waiting.

So yes. Relief. Almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

And poisoned by the knowledge that he’s now going to have to break the kid’s heart.

There are others who can tell him. Anakin, or one of the medics. Jesse or Hardcase or one of the boys closest to Rex. Ahsoka.

Anakin is barely functioning and Ahsoka is focused solely on her Master. And Cody deserves more respect than being fobbed off to a private.

“Thank you,” he says stiffly. He lets the door to Obi-Wan’s office close behind him and makes for medical, only to be called back hesitantly by Fives.

“Sir?” Jango doesn’t turn around, but he does look back over his shoulder. “Could you...could you tell the Commander that we’re glad he’s okay? Please?” The boys have asked nothing from him. The least he can do is give them this. He nods. “Thank you.” Fives sounds a little stunned, almost as if he can’t believe Jango has agreed.

“No problem, Fives,” he says, careful to use the boy’s name, smiling sadly when he straightens up and tries not to fidget.

If it takes him the rest of his kriffing life, he’s going to prove to these kids that he’s not a complete monster.

He doesn’t have a clue how to do that, so does what Obi-Wan might and focuses on the little details.

His feet know the way to medical now on autopilot. He’s spent much of the last week sat with Cody, doing what he knows Obi-Wan would’ve wanted to do, even if his duty made it impossible. It’s not like he can really do anything else.

Jango has given his version of events to Gregor, who is acting in Cody’s place until Mace Windu and the 187th arrive to take temporary command. With Obi-Wan d- _gone_ , there’s an empty seat on the High Council to be filled, and a vacant spot for a Jedi High General. No one knows who is going to be named, but all likely candidates already have their own command. One way or another, the 3rd Systems Army is about to undergo a significant shakeup.

Twenty-seven Jedi died on Jabiim, Obi-Wan among them. Ten thousand clone troopers. The tradition of reciting the names of the dead in a mark of remembrance - the way Jango taught them - has been replaced by a digital list of serial numbers. He knows some of the boys have gone in and added names, but the sheer number is too overwhelming a task to be easily completed. Jango will likely never know all the names of those who died. He’ll never know their stories.

The loss of Obi-Wan has crippled morale across the GAR. The Senate is busy picking apart his choices, but the people whose opinions matter have been shattered.

That’s to be expected, though. The boys are encouraged to bond with their Jedi, to become attached.

What’s truly destroyed the 3rd is the loss of Rex and Cody’s near-critical injury. The two of them are legends to the troops. Larger than life. Invincible.

Jabiim has stripped that away from them. Jango can see it in their eyes: there’s hopelessness there that’s going to be as deadly as blasterfire if Obi-Wan’s replacement can’t rally them.

But this will help. Cody’s recovery will help.

That’s assuming he doesn’t land himself right back in the bacta after five minutes.

Stepping into Cody’s room, he finds it free of medics. Cody’s out of bed, already in his blacks, fastening up his boots.

The bacta’s worked wonders, but he’s _just_ woken up.

That’s Obi-Wan’s influence, it has to be.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Jango scolds, mentally shoring himself up for a fight when Cody turns his hard, unflinching eyes on him.

“I have work to do,” he says, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “General Windu will need a full report when he arrives tomorrow.”

“Ge-” Oh that’s just kriffing... “You know.” Kriffing hells.

Cody clenches his jaw. “I am very sorry for your loss, sir,” he says in that same flat tone. “I know how much General Ken-” a break, a faultline in the stoniness of his expression, “-the General meant to you.”

Jango doesn’t think he does. Not really. He doesn’t think any of them really know. And now Obi-Wan isn’t here to reassure him, Jango’s terrified he didn’t know either.

“Was there something you needed, sir?” Cody asks him. “Only I have a lot to do.” He’s honed his manners - and his politely worded ‘fuck off’ - beautifully under Obi-Wan’s tutorage.

But okay, he wants to channel his General? Jango can work with that.

“You need to take a minute to process,” he says, gentle but firm. “How did you even find out?”

The silence stretches long enough that he starts to think that Cody won’t answer, then:

“I heard the medics talking,” Cody replies slowly, and then rounds on Jango with a challenging flare of anger in his eyes. “I heard them crying when they thought they were alone.” He says the words like he expects Jango to condemn them. As though Jango hasn’t been doing the exact same thing himself every moment he’s had the chance. He’s not cried so much in his fucking life.

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “That’s not how I wanted you to find out.”

The scar around Cody’s eye twists as he frowns. “Why would it matter how I found out?”

“You nearly died.” Jango points out slowly. “I wanted to...” To not have to tell Cody anything. For things to be different. For Obi-Wan and _ten thousand_ of his echoes to not be kriffing dead. "I wanted to prepare you. Or try to."

“The General’s loss is tragic,” Cody says flatly. “But there is a fresh batch of troopers due out from Kamino in less than a week. They will make up for our loss in numbers.”

“Loss in-”

“I will work with the Sergents to implement extra training routines,” Cody continues. “We won’t lose any efficiency, I assure you.”

There’s no kriffing doubt Cody’s _his_. Is this how Obi-Wan feels when Jango is being so stubbornly obtuse?

Jango has no idea if Cody is flinging the cold cruelty of their situation in his face on purpose, or if he genuinely believes what he’s saying. He desperately hopes its the former. He can handle Cody’s hatred, but he’s no idea how to even start facing up to the way they’ve all been so brainwashed into believing their lives have no value.

To do that would mean having to admit that it’s an opinion he once shared.

“It’s okay to grieve for them,” Jango says sincerely. Kriffing earnestly. “Rex-”

“Should’ve done his job better,” Cody snaps, the frayed edges of his pain finally bleeding over into his voice.

“He did everything he could,” Jango says fiercely.

Cody’s answering sneer is poisonous. “Is that your professional assessment?”

This is... somehow worse than he’s ever imagined. He’s spent a week besides Cody’s bacta tank, mentally preparing himself for denial or devastation. He has no idea how to approach the fortified wall of dispassion Cody is hiding behind.

“Cody,” he reaches forwards, willing to try anything in the hopes of reaching the boy. “Son-” And he freezes. That’s not what he’s meant to say. He doesn’t even know why he has. Not now. Not when he’s barely even started to organize things in his own mind and has no right to ask anyone else to join him on that path.

Cody recoils away from Jango in bitter disgust. “I am not your _son,_ ” he growls, stalking forward with trembling rage. “You are _not_ my father. You are not my commanding officer.” They’re the same height. The same weight. And there is so _much_ of the same anger in Cody that it steals Jango’s breath away. He’s done that. He's put that rage in Cody's heart. “You no longer have a position within the GAR or any authority with which to speak to me. You are _nothing_ to me. And you are nothing to my brothers, am I clear?”

What can he even say? Cody’s not wrong about any of it. He can argue? Protest? Maybe try and explain that he wasn’t thinking about the future when he did what he did? That they weren’t even people when he signed his name to the contact?

“You’re clear.” It’s all he can say. It’s all he has any right to.

Cody’s sneer deepens. “I know what you were trying to do,” he says. “Why you suddenly pretended to care.”

“I’m not _pretending_ -”

“Stop,” Cody snaps. “Just... just stop.” Grief flashes in his eyes, a bottomless depth of agony wrapped up in the wild strands of his hatred for Jango. “You loved him. I get it. And if he knew what you were, what you’ve done...” he laughs bitterly.

“He knows,” Jango protests. “Believe me, he knows-” Knew. 

Cody’s face twists in disbelief. “You told him everything? Did you tell him how many of my brothers were put down on your orders? How you tortured us? He thought you were some distant disciplinarian! That if you manned up and took _responsibility for us_ then maybe you could make things right.”

“I am sorry,” Jango can barely breathe. “I am so very sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Cody shakes his head. “You were the monster under our beds: why should I care how sorry you are?”

The shame is too much. He bows his head, unworthy of even looking at the truth Cody speaks.

“You didn’t deserve him,” Cody finishes with a vicious whisper. “And if I could trade your life for his, I would do it in a heartbeat.” He turns his back on Jango then, collects his armor, and walks calmly out of the room. His anger is gone. The hatred stowed away. The grief that’s there is buried so deeply it might never surface again. And Cody looks every inch the calm, composed, Commander. The perfect clone trooper.

Jango’s greatest triumph.

And his biggest failure.


	18. Chapter 18

Anakin is alone inside his head, and it’s terrifying.

For as long as he can remember, certainly as long as he’s been a Jedi, Obi-Wan has been there, Either nestled at the back of his mind or cocooning him in a protective shelter, Obi-Wan’s presence has been as thoughtless - and as necessary - as breathing. It’s never been loud - Obi-Wan isn’t a loud man - but the steadfast certainty of his warmth leaves an echoing, terrible emptiness behind.

He tries to find his Master in the Force, but meditation has never been his strongest skill. Obi-Wan has always helped him with that. Now, when Anakin needs that help the most...

Other Masters have offered. Anakin’s even taken a few of them up on it. Mace first, drawing Anakin into the cool comfort of his mind and sheltering him from the darkness as the wise Master’s arrival broke the levy in his mind. He does it more for the clones than for Anakin, to protect them from the violent headaches that Anakin’s grief inflicts on anyone in range, but he is kind about it. Sad in a way that surprises Anakin.

Yoda, too, once they are back on Coruscant. If the Grandmaster and the Master of the Order struggle to let go of their grief and find Obi-Wan in the Force, no one gets to lecture Anakin about his own failure.

Everyone is missing Obi-Wan.

Everyone wants to help Anakin.

Does he need anything? Does he want to talk? Has he eaten today? He looks pale. He looks gaunt.

Students are losing Masters - and vice versa - at a terrifying rate during the war, and Anakin is a Knight now, old enough and experienced enough to stand on his own...

But this is different.

Losing Obi-Wan has sent the Temple - the whole kriffing Republic - into a tailspin.

Oh, the Senate has had its tribunal. They’ve gone over the events on Jabiim with a fine toothcomb. Anyone foolish enough to suggest misconduct on Obi-Wan’s behalf has been smacked down by the combined wrath of Padmé and Bail Organa, and the Chancellor has been quick to ensure the process hasn’t dragged on. So now they have their fallen hero, their great and beloved General, and in every corner of the Republic, people bow their heads and speak his name with empty reverence and tell themselves he died to save them.

Anakin can’t listen to the holonews anymore. He can barely read his own reports. Three weeks. It’s been three weeks. And Obi-Wan is still all anyone can talk about.

No one seems to care that just hearing his name is a laceration to Anakin’s heart. They whisper it over and over, a benediction with no real meaning behind it.

Obi-Wan’s friends are ghosts in the Temple, grief and responsibility wearing them down.

The younglings, the Padawans, kriff, even Anakin’s own age group... they struggle to focus, to release their feelings into the Force. They’ve lost too many of their own. They’ve lost their kindhearted champion.

And the Force _screams_ with pain. Anakin can’t understand why no one else is screaming with it.

“Knight Skywalker? The Council will see you now.”

His summons to the Council has been expected. The end of a process he’s been largely kept absent from.

They’ve done their investigation, the process starting before Anakin and Obi-Wan even arrive on Jabiim. They’ve taken Anakin’s statement, and Padmé’s. They’ve spoken to his stepbrother and stepfather and who even knows who else. In the week and a half since his return to Coruscant, he’s spent his days with the Soul Healers and his nights in discussion with his men, and now the time he has come to face up to what he’s done.

Alone. Without Obi-Wan at his side.

He thought before that he’d survive being expelled from the Order, knowing Obi-Wan would still be with him. Knowing he’d have Padmé. But with Obi-Wan dead, there will be no one to look after his men. It’s already looking like they’ll be separated, the 3rd reshuffled and reorganized in preparation for their new numbers and High General.

Anakin can’t let that happen. He can’t leave them alone. He knows he’ll never be put in charge of the 3rd, but if he can just keep the 501st...

The Council doors open and he steps inside. He’s rarely faced the Council without Obi-Wan, but he's been taught well. He bows deeply. “Masters.”

Mace is inscrutable as ever, his dark eyes giving nothing away. Anakin has no allies on the Council, not anymore, and the faces that have looked at him with compassion these last few weeks now remain blank.

“Knight Skywalker,” Mace says evenly. “Do you know why you are here?”

Anakin takes a deep breath. Obi-Wan believed he was worthy of redemption. Anakin won’t betray that belief. It’s all he has left of his Master. “To answer for my crimes on Tatooine.”

“Your confession, we have read,” Master Yoda says seriously. “Statements we have taken, from those involved. On your behalf, your Master did speak.” Anakin swallows back the painful lump that rises in his throat.

“The Republic has no jurisdiction on Tatooine,” Mace continues, “And under local law, no crime was committed. However, in cases of premeditated murder, the Senate may choose to pursue prosecution under Republic Law, regardless of intergalactic boundaries.”

They’ve already warned him of that, and Padmé has explained it.

“I understand, Master,” Anakin says gravely. “I will accept the consequences of my actions.”

“Consequences, hmm?” Yoda asks. “Blind to the consequences, you are.”

As is so often the case, Anakin doesn’t really understand what Yoda is talking about. And he doesn’t have Obi-Wan to translate. But he nods his head. “Yes, Master.”

Mace continues. “After some deliberation, the Senate has decided not to take this matter further. They have agreed it is a Jedi matter, for the Jedi to resolve.” Anakin’s breath catches. He honestly doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. Looking to the Masters for a clue doesn’t help.

“Master Kenobi spoke passionately on your behalf,” Master Koon says solemnly.

“Master Kenobi always believed my failings were a reflection of his own,” Anakin says, struggling to get the words out.

“And do you believe he was right?” Ki Adi Mundi asks him.

How many times has he said exactly the same thing himself? That Obi-Wan holds him back? That _Qui-Gon_ would’ve been a better Master?

“Obi-Wan would never have condoned what I did,” Anakin says softly. “It broke his heart when he found out.”

“Teach you to release your anger better, should he have?” Yoda asks.

Anakin swallows. “Master Yoda, you yourself meditated with me on my anger many times. The failure is mine alone.”

“Believed he did, that expel you we should not,” Yoda grumbles. “His padawan, you were. Responsibility for your crimes, he attempted to take.”

“What?” Anakin raises his head sharply. “ _No_.”

“The Council agrees with you,” Mace says cooly. “We are not in the habit of condemning the Master for the crimes of the Apprentice.”

“Miss Master Kenobi, do you?” Yoda’s question catches him off guard. Of _course_ he misses Obi-Wan. He misses him like oxygen. How can they ask him that? Has he been so cold, so cruel, that they really have to question it?

“I know that he is One with the Force,” he says carefully, saying what he is expected to. “But I... yes, Masters. I miss him very much.”

“And how feel you?”

He has to close his eyes again, and imagines Obi-Wan at his side. Imagines what he might say. ‘ _Honesty, Anakin. Show them your heart and trust they will find it as gentle as I do.’_

Obi-Wan always thought so very, very highly of him.

Tears burn his eyes. “I ache for his guidance,” he admits. “I - it feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

“Your tears are not shameful, Anakin,” Master Fisto has always been kind to him. “We cannot help what we feel, only the actions that they lead us to.”

Anakin nods shakily. That’s not what he’s expecting to hear. The whole conversation has taken a turn that he doesn’t understand. They’ve said the decision on his punishment is up to the Council. Why aren’t they making it?

“You chose to leave Obi-Wan’s body on Jabiim,” Mace says. “Why?”

“What?” The question stuns him.

“You could have stayed,” the Master continues. “You’ve proven yourself capable of singlehandedly massacring an entire settlement after the loss of a loved one. You could have pushed the insurgents back long enough for his body to have been recovered. Or perhaps Obi-Wan meant less to you than your mother.”

That’s not... what the _kriff?_ Mace has called Anakin on his shit more than once, but he’s _never_ been cruel about it before. How dare they? How dare they suggest that he didn’t do everything he could? That he didn’t _love_ Obi-Wan! The pulse of anger that lives deep in his soul starts to grow, beating in time with his heart. They know nothing about him. Nothing about Obi-Wan. He was stupid to even think that they might understand.

“I had my padawan to think of,” he growls. “A hundred injured men, a civilian contractor and two units needed extraction. Twenty-seven Jedi died on Jabiim. More than half of them in that fight. _Children_. To suggest that I alone could’ve made a difference shows both an alarming over-confidence in my abilities and a callous lack of regard for their sacrifice. We were overrun. I did my duty as a Jedi and _to_ my Master to prioritize the preservation of life over the retrieval of a body.” He’s shaking by the time he finishes speaking.

And can’t for the life of him understand why so many of them are smiling at him. They’re sad but still smiling.

“It’s as if the famous Negotiator were here in this room himself,” Plo Koon says softly. “Exactly the kind of response I’d expect from Obi-Wan Kenobi’s student.”

“Chose life over hate, you did,” Yoda says. “Put aside blind anger to protect those who needed you.”

“I-”

“If it were up to you, Skywalker,” Mace leans back in his chair, a pulse of exhaustion stirring from his heart. “What would you have our decision be?”

Anakin frowns. “On how to punish me?” Mace nods his head. “I don’t...” But he does. He knows what to say. The only thing he can. “That’s not my call, Master, nor should it be. I confess my crime and accept whatever consequences you in your wisdom deem fit. I allowed my anger and hatred control over my heart and in doing so shamed my mother’s memory, my Master’s teachings, and your kindness in accepting me into your hearts despite your trepidations.” He lets out a deep breath and steadies himself before sinking down to his knees in a gesture of supplication. “I would ask only one thing. If...if I may?”

“We will listen,” Mace promises.

That’s all Anakin can ask. “I know you’ll be assigning a new High General to the 3rd soon,” he says. “Whoever they are, and whoever you replace me with as head of the 501st... please don’t let them separate the men. Losing Obi-Wan has-” he chokes back his own tears “- been difficult for them. I know Ahsoka is too young to lead them herself, but she knows them and they respect her. If she and her new Master could stay with them, give them some stability...” he trails off, his heart broken.

The Council sit in silence for a long time.

When Mace finally speaks, it’s with an air of disbelief. “You’re aware that the possible punishments for this infraction include expulsion from the order and, in cases of great severity, execution?”

Anakin flinches. His heart screams for Padmé. He’s never considered execution - the Jedi preserve life at all costs... Unless they believe he is truly fallen. If they fear what danger he might pose...

His eyes close in resignation. He thinks of Obi-Wan and, surprisingly, Jango, and knows he’s doing the right thing. She’ll forgive him. She has to forgive him. “I understand.”

“And this is all you ask of us?”

 _All_ , he says, as though it’s not everything. “Yes, my Masters.”

And out of nowhere, Yoda slams his stick across the back of Anakin's head. “Told you, I did!” he says, pointing a short, clawed finger at Mace. “Right, Obi-Wan was.”

Mace adopts an expression of supreme irritation. “It’s been known to happen.”

Anakin, rubbing his head gingerly, sits back on his knees. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re not removing you from your post, Skywalker,” Mace says with a heavy sigh. “We can ill afford the loss in either manpower or morale.”

“So you’re saving my punishment until after the war?” Anakin tries to clarify, frowning.

“That _is_ your punishment,” Mace frowns. “You committed an act of great evil, Anakin Skywalker, but on Jabiim you proved yourself capable of rising above the darkness in your soul. It is only through acts of compassion and servitude that you will find your own redemption.” He shakes his head. “You will be on probation for a period of five years, to be overseen directly by myself and Master Yoda. During that time you will spend no less than seven hours a week in consultation with a Soul Healer. We _will_ be watching your every move. Obi-Wan believed in you. This Council believes in you. Do not let our faith in you prove misplaced. Do not betray your Master's memory.”

Anakin doesn’t even know where to start. Or what to say. Or how...

Obi-Wan was right.

He swallows, tears overflowing. “You won’t separate the men?”

“No, Skywalker. We won’t separate the men. We do have one more thing we need to discuss, though.”

They’re letting him stay with his men. They’re letting him... they can talk about any kriffing thing they want.

“Master?”

“Your wife.”

Ah. _Kriff._

Without warning, the ground beneath him vanishes and the world is thrown violently off its axis.

He’s not on Coruscant anymore. He doesn’t know _where_ he is, just that everything hurts. His mind is on fire, his body shredded by a weariness that’s been carved into muscle and bone and there’s _so_ much darkness. It’s thick and heavy and he can’t breathe without it trying to slither down his throat and into his lungs and he’s _going to die if he doesn’t breathe and_ \- freedom. Sweet, blessed release. The Force rushing to his aid, crying out mournfully at his pain.

“Skywalker!”

The darkness swallows him, swallows the Light, recoils, and spits him right back out again.

He opens his eyes, and the soft lights of the Council chamber twinkle above him, halos glowing softly around the Council’s worried faces. They’re crouched over him, surrounding him with their light, protecting and supporting him as the world continues to roll so dizzily out of his control.

Yoda’s small hand comes to rest on his brow. “What see you?” he asks, his own eyes closed.

Anakin opens his mouth but no words come out.

“Breathe,” Mace instructs. “Find your center.” Anakin obeys, easily following the soothing rhythm of his voice and the steady pulse of his presence in the Force. “Good,” Mace praises. “Now. Talk to us.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin chokes. “He’s _alive_.”

And then, like the small crecheling he’s never been, he bursts into tears on the floor of the Council chambers, wrapped safely in the beating heart of the Jedi Order.


	19. Chapter 19

Current circumstances have conspired to force Rex down a very specific, very forbidden train of thought: namely, is it ever acceptable to throttle ones Jedi? He suspects he knows the answer, but it’s worth asking regardless, especially when the Jedi in question passes out on him for the third time in an hour.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Rex says, irritably readjusting his grip on Obi-Wan’s wrist in order to better stabilize him.

Obi-Wan is taking longer and longer to regain his focus after each slip into unconsciousness, but he never fails to open with a sarcastic retort when he does come round. “I’m sorry," he groans, blinking the world into focus, "Shall I let them shoot us next time?”

“Or,” Rex says, wondering how in the seven hells Cody is even halfway sane, “you could let _me_ shoot _them._ With the gun that I now have.” He raises said blaster as if to say ' _please stop being so kriffing stubborn_ '.

“Because I got it for you,” Obi-Wan points out. Which, yes, fine. Rex really doesn’t have the headspace to process the fact that, mid-escape from Ventress’s torture palace of evil, Obi-Wan just...politely told one of the guards to let them pass and to give Rex his weapon. And that it worked.

So he tries extra hard to be patient, even though he’s swinging nauseatingly between absolute numbness and searing pain. You can’t take shit seriously when the person saying it has been tortured for three weeks straight. This might be an easier consideration to make if Obi-Wan is panicking or traumatized or scared or angry or anything other than just _extra ridiculous_.

“And I appreciate that, sir,” he says. “But now we’re armed -”

“You’re armed. I miss my lightsaber.” Okay, so maybe he’s a _little_ fucked up. His pupils are different sizes and he knows for a fact that's not normal.

“-and we’re making excellent progress in our plan to not get caught.”

“Have I told you how very much I appreciate your tactical prowess, Captain?” Obi-Wan’s eyes aren’t focusing at all now, and Rex’s impatience circles rapidly back around to concern. He’s alternately being very professional and achingly familiar, swapping our Rex’s rank for his name or the occasional _ad’ika_ , and yes, Rex is absolutely going to bawl his eyes out when this is over because it’s getting harder and harder not to accept the genuine warmth with which Obi-Wan speaks to him.

“You’ve mentioned it,” he says, softer now. “But like I was saying... maybe give me time to shoot someone _before_ blasting them into solid surfaces with your brain? You need to conserve your energy.”

“The Force isn’t a fuel cell,” Obi-Wan responds obtusely. Seriously, Rex is _never_ giving Cody shit for anything ever again. “It’s limitless; it doesn’t need preserving.”

“Okay, but, and I really hate to be the one to break it to you, your stamina really _isn’t_ limitless right now.”

Obi-Wan sighs with his whole body. “I know,” he admits. “You’re right-”

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

A narrowed scowl crosses Obi-Wan’s bruised face before he winces, the expression pulling at bruised, split skin. Now they’re out of the poorly lit cells, he can see the full extent of the damage Obi-Wan has taken and he’s half tempted to put the General somewhere nice and safe and then march back down there just to set the whole kriffing place on fire. Obi-Wan has always been impeccably composed, both physically and mentally. Seeing him so defenseless - so _small_ \- twists something inside Rex’s chest that even the witch’s torture droids hadn’t been able to reach.

“Forgive me, Rex, I am... out of sorts right now.”

Rex struggles to smile reassuringly. “What would I say to you if I were Cody?” he asks curiously.

Obi-Wan cringes. “Oh, you wouldn’t have to say anything. Your brother has a way of looking at me as though he is terribly disappointed in all of my life choices.”

A laugh bubbles in Rex’s chest. Oh yeah, he knows that look. It’s _awful_. Cody made him cry with it once, back when Rex was maybe two or three. Somehow that’d made _Cody_ cry and the two of them had clung to one another wailing until Bly had started to laugh at them both.

“I don’t think I’m quite that intimidating,” Rex admits. “Maybe I’ll ask him for some pointers when we get back.”

Obi-Wan snorts inelegantly. “Dear one, your brother isn’t going to let either of us out of his sight ever again.” He sounds amused, then rapidly sobers. “Oh, but he’s going to be having to do so much extra datawork...”

Right. Okay. That is not the thought process of a sane man. “Quick question, sir?” Obi-Wan hums in approval, so he pauses long enough to readjust his grip and hold his hand up in front of Obi-Wan’s face. “How many fingers?”

He half expects Obi-Wan to brush the question off and is surprised when he appears to focus intently.

“Four?”

“Asking or saying?”

The frown deepens. “...four.”

Rex, who is holding up _two_ fingers, nods bracingly. “Close enough.” Obi-Wan beams at him, his mouth full of blood, and Rex remembers that even though he’s out of the chains, Ventress’s nasty little bugs are still torturing him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is _phenomenal_.

And Rex is getting him out of here if it’s the last thing he does. He wants to spend more time with the man his brothers in the 212th secretly call their buir, and he wants to do it when he’s not smiling bravely through crippling agony.

Obi-Wan pats him consolingly with a hand that holds no strength. “You’re a good man, Rex,” he says kindly. “Now come on, not much further.”

They’ve been stumbling through the same corridors for what feels like the last decade, but Rex is willing to take Obi-Wan’s word for it.

So far they’ve managed to avoid the bulk of Ventress’s forces, encountering only the odd patrol as they pick their way through the mazelike corridors. Rex is pretty sure they’re underground, which makes it harder for him to get their barrings. They are reliant on Obi-Wan’s intuition and Rex’s sense of smell.

Then there’s the matter of the small riot they might’ve caused.

Obi-Wan’s too soft-hearted to leave anyone locked in Ventress’s prison, no matter why they might be there. He’s also practical enough to recognize that they’re in no position to help anyone else escape when even combined they’re only roughly half a functioning person.

So Rex has opened the lower level cells, stepped back, and watched the carnage unfold.

Which is more than likely the reason they’ve not yet encountered any significant opposition.

Not that he’s complaining.

In truth, he’s lost track of how long they have been trying to make their escape. It’s not a fast process.

But the air seems less stagnant now, and smells less like rotting flesh. It spurs them on hopefully, pushing through the pain. If they can just escape the palace, Rex is confident in his ability to get Obi-Wan somewhere safe for long enough to really investigate his injuries.

Obi-Wan underscores the necessity of haste by passing out again.

Rex curses, his footing unstable as he has to adjust for the sudden shift in weight. All his irritation and teasing fall away, leaving only the core of his fear behind.

Obi-Wan is _dying_ , and if Rex doesn’t do something about it...

Well, he’s not leaving here without him.

“Wake up,” he begs, propping his weapon under his arm in an attempt to hold Obi-Wan more securely. “No one likes a lazy Jedi, come on!” He’s tried various techniques to keep Obi-Wan conscious, each one proving less and less useful as time progresses.

It’s typical that _now_ is the time he hears movement close by; voices calling out in rough, angry chants.

“You have the worst timing!” he informs Obi-Wan, a bubble of hysteria popping quickly and allowing him to focus. He shifts Obi-Wan until he can lift him over his shoulder. This is going to be miserable for both of them, but Rex is out of options. It could be worse, that’s what he focuses on. It could be worse. He could be having to carry the absolute tank that is Wolffe, or, kriff, Anakin. He’s done that once and they’ve both agreed to never speak of it again.

He’s long past the point of running on adrenaline. Whatever it is that gets him moving is beyond his ability to define or categorize. He simply has to keep going, and so he does. The urgency that drives him isn’t just one of fear or desperation, but something beyond primal. There’s a voice in the back of his head telling him he _must_ succeed. That failure is not only death for himself and Obi-Wan, but for his brothers, too.

He’s spent enough time around weird Jedi shit to accept that there are some things you don’t question.

And then -

 _A way out_.

They step out into a cavernous room and there at the end of it... hope. There’s no one between them and the door and he knows in his bones that it’s too good to be true, that after nearly a month of torment it can’t possibly be so _easy_ to escape. But what choice does he have? To go back is to return to the cells, to a prison riot they started and a sadistic witch who _will_ kill them both.

But he also can’t just take Obi-Wan into a situation he’s not in control of. Not now. Not when they are so close.

“Okay, stay here,” he says to Obi-Wan, taking the lifeless slump of his head as an agreement. Rex carefully sets him down before shouldering his rifle and striding forward.

The floor might be rigged. There could be tripwires. Snipers - the long, high vaulted entrance hall is full of potential dangers - and knowing Rex’s luck, the massive doors will be locked right at the time his psychic lockpick is out for the count.

Instead, it’s none of those things.

Or one.

Stepping out from the shadows, Ventress places herself between Rex and their escape.

He raises his blaster, fires, and-

She deflects each shot, then stretches out a hand and rips the weapon from his grasp. The shortest kriffing fight in history.

“I take it your answer is no?” she asks, inspecting his blaster before casting it aside.

“I’m gonna politely decline,” he says, trying to maneuver himself so he’s between her and Obi-Wan unconscious form. “You should really up your security.”

She starts to laugh. “Rats in a maze don’t need guards at the exit. Whether you make it to the door is irrelevant. This whole _planet_ is mine. Every rock and insect. No one leaves without my permission.” Rex clenches his jaw and her eyes widen. “Oh. Oh no, did you really think you had a chance?”

Yes. He did.

Kriff, he still does. Or Obi-Wan does at least.

He’s going to die here. That’s the best-case scenario. If he’s lucky, she’ll cut him down. If he’s not, he’s going back in that cell.

But fuck it. She’s a Sith, yes, but Sith are just really messed up Force users, and Rex is designed, brain cells to bones, from a man who has torn her kind apart with his bare hands.

What was it Jango said? Move quick. Play on their arrogance.

She has him at a disadvantage now. He can’t move fast enough to catch her by surprise. Not unless she comes closer. He can’t be the one to do it; she’ll see it coming a mile off.

But maybe...

He bows his head in defeat, and when he opens his eyes - she’s beside him.

“There there,” she coos. “You did well. I’ll make this easy for you.” She reaches out and gestures to the door. “Go. There’s a ship waiting to take you anywhere you want. All you have to do is walk through that door.”

“And leave my General behind,” Rex swallows.

She smiles sympathetically. “Obi-Wan Kenobi will never leave this palace alive. But you don’t have to share his fate. Go. Be free of the Republic.”

Tempting, but -

She leans in close, her hand reaching to brush back his hair.

He slams his forehead down against her nose.

They both cry out, Rex’s head _strongly_ protesting yet more abuse, and for a second he has the upper hand.

Maybe if he was fighting fit he might stand a chance. Now, he’s just a bug waiting to be squashed.

Ventress howls her rage, a wave of power slamming him back off his feet. He hits the ground hard and - _get up get up get up!_

The red blade of Ventress’s saber swings down towards his head and -

\- stops. Inches away. There’s nothing blocking its path. Nothing he can _see_ at least.

But then there is Obi-Wan, struggling to his feet, his hand outstretched, holding Ventress’s assault back through sheer power of will.

He shouldn’t be conscious. He shouldn’t’ be standing. And he sure as fuck shouldn’t be _fighting._ But he is. Furious and focused, his blue eyes flashing. Rex has been in awe of the Jedi since he met them, something that’s only ever taken a knock when he’s witnessed Anakin doing something stupid, but their prowess in battle aside, he’s usually too preoccupied to just _watch_ them in action. He knows Obi-Wan can fight - that he’s possibly the most gifted combatant Rex has ever had the privilege of fighting with, Anakin included - but this is something else entirely.

He can see beyond the image presented, see more than just two enemies facing in battle. The air is static with power, crackling in a way that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. The darkness in Ventress that he’s only ever been able to understand by instinctual dread becomes a physical form. She’s terrifying in a way her casual cruelty can never match, a true weapon of evil honed and poised to strike him down.

And in his own way, Obi-Wan is no less frightening. Where she flickers in the shadows, he _glows_. Light bleeds around the edges of his form, so bright it hurts to look for more than a few seconds.

The power they both wield is breathtaking and terrifying and he’s never felt so small and helpless in his life.

“You can’t beat me,” Ventress snarls. “Not without giving in to the Dark. _Look at you_. Weak. _Pathetic_.”

The taunt is a hollow one. An act of desperation. She has to know she can’t win. Obi-Wan hovers on the edge of life and death, wraithlike and fragile, and yet...

“That is what you Sith can never understand,” Obi-Wan says, and he sounds sad. Like he pities her. “True strength doesn’t come from hating those who oppose us,” he takes a step forward, driving her back, “but in loving those we protect. I will not let you harm him again. And I don’t need the Dark Side to stop you.”

Later, Rex will never be able to tell if Obi-Wan knew what was about to happen or not, but in that moment he swears the Jedi is ready, willing, and _capable_ of tearing Ventress apart, weapon or no weapon.

But before either of them get the chance to test his resolve, the gates to the palace explode, showering them all with raining mortar and debris. And, through the smoke and settling dust, the most beautiful sight Rex has ever seen.

The glow of a dozen lightsabers, a riot of blue and green, and purple cutting through the chaos.

Even Ventress isn’t about to take on the dozen Jedi that pour through the entrance, Anakin Skywalker at their head. The collective might of some of the their finest warriors is backed by the familiar armor of Ghost Company, Cody leading the charge at Anakin’s side. Jango Fett’s distinctive armor looms menacingly beside them.

Rex raises his head and flashes Ventress a bloody smile. “You do _not_ want to be here when they see what you’ve done to him,” he whispers viciously.

And he’s right. Her lip curls in disgust, her eyes flashing with hatred as she looks at the incoming force.

“Until next time, my dear,” she says to Obi-Wan, then rounds on her heel and flees into the palace.

For a second Rex is afraid Obi-Wan is about to do something stupid like try and follow her. Then he slumps, his knees giving way as the last of his reserves ebb away. Rex’s entire body screams at him as he tries to catch him before he hits the ground, but he doesn’t need to worry - a flash of color, and Anakin is there.

“Obi-Wan!”

Relieved, Rex falls down and lacks the energy to get back up again. Obi-Wan is being wrapped protectively in Anakin’s robe, pulled into his arms, and sheltered by the protective embrace of someone who is considerably more suited to the task of keeping him safe than Rex is.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, an exhausted smile in his eyes. “Hello, Anakin.”

“You utter _bastard_ ,” Anakin sobs, clinging to him frantically.

For some reason, that’s the funniest thing Rex has heard in his _life_.

He starts to laugh. Or at least he _thinks_ he’s laughing. Then he’s being pulled into the hard-edged warmth of Cody arms, his brother all but shaking as he gathers Rex close, tucks his head against his shoulder, and holds him tight. And maybe he’s not _laughing_ so much as he is losing his kriffing mind.

Something warm drapes over his shoulder. He lifts his head from Cody’s chest to meet the tormented eyes of Jango and can’t understand why he’s wrapping Rex in a blanket and not his _husband_.

Cody’s trembling hand brushes his bruised cheek. He can’t see his brother’s face, but he can imagine how he must be looking: Cody’s got a perilously soft heart under all that stoic grump.

“I’mfine,” Rex murmurs.

“Shut up,” Cody says without heat. “Shut up. I’ve got you, vod’ika.”

Obi-Wan’s safe and Rex is with Cody. Nothing can hurt either of them now.

“Hey Cody?” he mumbles, letting his brother hold him.

“Yeah?”

Rex looks past Jango’s shoulder to where Obi-Wan is being fussed over by Anakin and half of Ghost Company.

“Your Jedi is a pain in the ass,” he says firmly.

And then, because fuck Obi-Wan ‘last word’ Kenobi, he promptly passes out before anyone can protest.


	20. Chapter 20

Obi-Wan is alive. Rex is alive. And Jango is unable to face either of them.

Of all the many, many things he's been over the years, he can now add 'cowardly piece of bantha shite' to the list. His _buir_ would be so proud.

It’s easy enough to find excuses not to see Rex: the boy is surrounded by his brothers every second of the day, his room in the medical bay an impromptu campsite as his unit and several other of the troopers drive the _baar'ure_ in circles of insanity. He’s healing well and will likely be discharged in the next few days, but Jango physically can’t get to him without climbing over a dozen overprotective, well-armed vode. One of those boys is Boba, who, alongside Ahsoka, has stubbornly refused to leave for anything more significant than a fresher break. Jango isn’t about to try and force the issue.

It’s different for Obi-Wan.

Unlike Rex, his room is kept clear for all but essential personnel. Jango has clearance thanks to Anakin, and he’s spent every night sleeping at the foot of Obi-Wan’s bacta tank, but now he’s awake and...

And Jango is terrified.

They’re irrational fears, he _knows_ that. Knows that Obi-Wan isn’t going to wake up and hate him. He isn’t going to blame Jango for thinking him dead and for abandoning him to the enemy. He won’t blame him for failing to protect Rex, for being unable to be of any comfort to Anakin. For what he's done to Cody -

He _will_ blame Jango for Cody. If he finds out. When. When he finds out. If Cody doesn't tell him then Jango _will_ , and..

He knows he’s being a coward. He knows Obi-Wan will need someone to hold him, to shelter him as he heals and he knows just as well that Jango is the only one he will accept that from right now.

No, what he’s afraid of is this - all of this - falling through his fingers.

Obi-Wan was _dead_. Jango lost him. People don’t just come back from that. Jango doesn’t just get to have something because he begs the universe to make it so.

Nothing in the galaxy is free, and this? How does he even begin starting to pay off this kind of debt?

If Obi-Wan opens his eyes, if he smiles at Jango, if Jango gets to hear his voice, gets to tell him he loves him... and then it all goes away again?

He can’t. He’s not strong enough.

Now Obi-Wan is awake, it guts him open every time he turns away from his door.

It’s been less than a day, but it feels like an eternity.

So he focuses on work instead.

Fortunately for everyone, his work, and the work of the GAR, are considerably more aligned than they used to be.

 _Unfortunately_ for Jango, it also means putting a call into the very last person in the galaxy he wants to speak to.

The last time he saw Satine Kryze was at Obi-Wan’s funeral. She cried, Jango didn’t. Neither of them spoke to one another.

This time she answers his call still dressed in the mourning gown of ancient tradition, the enormous and garish headdress of New Mandalore creating for a strange contradiction in visual cues.

This would usually be where they back and forth on the passive-aggressive pleasantries you’d expect between the orphaned son of Madalore’s rightful ruler and the orphaned daughter of the New Mandalorian usurpers. Not that he is in any way bitter about all that. Today, he makes an exception.

“He’s alive,” he says, cutting right to the point. They haven’t announced to anyone yet that High General Kenobi has been recovered. The Chancellor knows and of course the Jedi Council, but that’s it. They’ve been waiting for the certainty that he’d survive his recovery before triggering a galaxy-wide shockwave.

If Jango were a good man he would say that he doesn’t want any friend of Obi-Wan’s to learn the truth via holonet. He’s not a good man, though, and he has more than one motive for calling her. Besides, Obi-Was has far too many friends to make that a practical approach, the endearing little shit.

Satine’s eyes immediately fill with tears. She’s a cold woman, at least in Jango’s opinion, but she’s always adored Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan her. They fight like siblings on every topic imaginable, but they love each other with the same intensity. Jango once hated her for that, too.

“How?”

“Dooku’s apprentice took him on Jabiim. She kept him and one of his Captains imprisoned until-” he pinches his brow. “I’m not sure if we rescued them or if they rescued themselves, but yeah. He’s alive. They brought him out of bacta this morning.”

He sees a flash of anger at not being informed earlier, but frankly, he doesn’t kriffing care.

“How is he?”

Jango swallows and lets the fear and helplessness he feels finally show. Satine has walked in his shoes, she’s held Obi-Wan Kenobi in her arms after another has brutalized him. She’s sworn revenge, and she’s tasted it too. A dent in her pristine pacifist’s armor that only Jango knows exists. “Bad,” he admits. “He’s been in bacta for a week. His _baar'ur_ had to pull him out for surgery twice - catastrophic organ failure. They flushed cannibalistic parasites from inside his body and repaired eighteen broken bones. We’ve not been able to get a full account of his torture yet, but from his Captain’s report and what we can deduce from his condition...” he shudders, anguished, heartbroken rage rolling over him in waves too forceful to counter. “They kept him in a Sith torture device. A hood. Three weeks of sleep and sensory deprivation, starvation, and beatings. The hood cut him off from the Force but kept him alive. By the time we got to him, his whole system was starting to shut down.”

If they’d been even an hour later, Obi-Wan would be dead. The cruel device that had tormented him so brutally had been the one thing keeping him alive. Without it, even Obi-Wan’s beloved Force had been unable to sustain him in the face of their brutality.

Jango could’ve lost him twice. They could've arrived just in time for him to hold his riduur as he died.

He is _not_ crying again.

“Are they dead?” Satine asks, surprising him.

“Going to _scold_ me if they’re not?” he asks bitterly.

Her eyes narrow. “You’re not a stupid man, Jango Fett, stop acting as though you are. Did you kill the people who hurt our Obi-Wan?”

Reluctantly, he shakes his head. “Ventress escaped. Most of her guards were killed before we arrived.”

She nods her head thoughtfully. “You are intending to rectify this, yes?”

“Asks the pacifist,” he snorts.

“To the assassin,” she hits back. “We are what we are.”

“She’s a Force user. A Sith.”

“Mandalore has no alliance with the Sith,” Satine says cooly.

“And I am no _Mando'ad,”_ he responds bitterly. “Not anymore.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You know full well you’d be welcome back any time if you stopped murdering everyone you met.”

There’s a topic he’s not willing to go into now. Possibly not ever. Certainly not without Obi-Wan to mediate.

“I’ll take care of Ventress,” he promises grimly. “But I need something from you. Something for Obi-Wan,” he adds before she can tell him to kriff himself. When she nods, he loads a datafile into the holodeck. “Sending it to you now.”

He gives it a moment to load, then watches as she scans it over, one delicate eyebrow-raising, first in surprise, then in anger. “You’re sure about this?”

“ _Mando'ade draar digu_ _.”_

 _“_ No,” she agrees, “we don’t.”

* * *

By the time he’s done settling things with Satine, he’s officially out of excuses. Her final insult rings in his ears; as he makes his way down to the medical bay. _“I’ve called you many things over the years, Fett; coward isn’t one of them.”_ She’s right. And oh, how he hates her for that as well.

He sticks his head into Rex’s medical room and finds the boy exactly where he should be, fast asleep and snoring, a literal pile of his brothers around the bed. Boba has his legs draped over Ahsoka's, their heads together as they sleep. Two of the younger troopers are awake and playing a card game, and they start to rise at the sight of him.

Jango waves them back into position. “How’s he doing?”

“Naps says his dumbassery is still functional,” one of them - Ballsy? - says with a grin.

Jango snorts. “Carry on then.”

Outside Obi-Wan’s room, Ghost company has set up their own little station, complete with a small desk for Cody to do his datawork within growling distance of anyone who comes too close and shouldn’t. There isn’t a trooper on the ship who hasn’t attempted to sneak in and see their General and it’s as endearing as it is an irritation to the medics.

The desk is unmanned, and since he knows Skywalker is working out some of his aggression with Windu, Jango thinks that _now_ might be the time to find his balls and face the music.

He steps into the doorway and freezes in the shadows, staying out of sight.

Obi-Wan is awake, yes, but he’s not alone.

Cody paces at the foot of the bed like a caged animal, looking almost as tired and worn as his Jedi.

“Cody...” the admonishment is softened by Obi-Wan’s patient smile. “Alright, come on—” He starts to shift himself on the bed, something that triggers startling panic in both Cody and Jango. Jango’s able to force himself into stillness, but Cody is less successful.

“What are you doing?” he demands, leaning down to gently still Obi-Wan’s movement. “You’re not supposed to be moving!”

“If Naps wants to stop me shuffling in my own bed he’s going to have to give me significantly stronger drugs,” Obi-Wan says dryly. He lets Cody still his movement, but it seems he’s achieved his goal anyway. Now there is a bigger gap between himself and the edge of the bed. Enough, at a pinch, for something that is likely going to trigger a complete meltdown in the Commander.

Jango smiles to himself, relieved. Cody might be his boy, might have his stubbornness, but neither of them is a match for Obi-Wan. Jango’s accepted it, time for Cody to do the same.

“Up you get,” Obi-Wan encourages, patting the side of the bed.

Cody’s answering expression is entirely blank. “Sir?”

“You need to sleep, dear one, and if I’m being perfectly honest, so do I. And since you apparently can’t, I most certainly shall not, and then we’ll both be in trouble. So up you get." He pats the bed again, his hand white and distressingly frail. "I’m afraid I make a pretty poor pillow-” It’s true, too many hard angles. “-but I’m quite certain I can help.”

In all honesty, Jango doesn’t know how Cody is going to respond. He can see it going either way. It’s clear the boy has no idea how to accept comfort of any kind, but whether that’s because he feels he’s unworthy or that it’s unnecessary, Jango doesn’t know. All he _does_ know is that allowing yourself to be vulnerable with Obi-Wan is an impossible lure to resist. He emits empathy like a beacon, promising both safety and a lack of judgment. It’s the part of him Jango fell in love with first. The rest of it was the attraction, bright hot and burning, but this part of his husband’s gentle soul is a balm to heal all wounds. If you let it be.

“I-” Cody hesitates.

“I’ll make it an order if I must,” Obi-Wan teases, an honest glint of promise in his bruised eyes.

Cody still doesn’t budge. “I’m not - we’re not - _children_.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “I am aware of that.”

“Are you?” For all his protests, the challenge itself is almost childish in its demand.

“Would I give children the kind of heavy firepower you and your brothers have access to?” Obi-Wan asks dryly.

“Yes. And I know for a fact that you have.”

Obi-Wan cringes. “Okay, poor analogy. Where is this coming from? You must know you all have my utmost respect. Personally, and professionally. If I have done anything to make you think otherwise-”

“No! No, of course not, I-”

This is _painful_. He’d march in there right now if not for the fact that Cody’s already coiled like a cornered fennec and Obi-Wan might blast Jango into a wall if he upsets him. Aside from the personal bruises, he's supposed to be _resting_.

“Please, Cody,” Obi-Wan implores. “Just lay down. Just for a moment.”

And miracle of miracles, Cody does. He’s probably wanted to right from the start.

He’s too respectful to put his head on Obi-Wan’s pillow, instead shuffling gingerly until his head is parallel to Obi-Wan’s side and his long legs curl up awkwardly so he can fit in the smaller space. Obi-Wan sighs, affectionate and mildly despairing, and brings his hand down to stroke gently over the back of Cody’s head.

The effect is immediate. Cody closes his eyes and presses a little closer. There’s still too much tension in his shoulders, but Jango knows it won’t last.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan sounds almost tearful, his own shoulders loosening as Cody relaxes by minute degrees. “You’re not children,” he says, his hand continuing its gentle movement. It looks like that’s all he has the energy for, and he’s putting everything into comforting Cody. “I’ve never thought of you as such. But-” he has to still Cody before he can protest. “ _But_ you are still very young. There is a lot you are learning about the world and about yourselves that you’ve simply never been allowed to before. However you and your brother age developmentally, the fact remains that I _have_ been around for a little longer.” Cody mutters something Jango can’t hear and Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yes, quite. You allow your brothers to seek out each other for comfort - you offer it freely. But you don’t accept it for yourself.”

“I’m in command,” Cody says softly. “I don’t need-”

“Don’t need? Or don’t want?” Cody stays silent. “If you won’t allow yourself their support,” Obi-Wan whispers, “will you at least accept mine?”

“I shouldn’t,” Cody says, leaning even further into Obi-Wan’s touch. “You’re my General.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan agrees, and he sounds so heartbreakingly sad about it.

“ _I’m_ supposed to support _you_ ,” Cody explains. “That’s why I exist.”

“It’s your job, ad’ika, not your whole reason for being.” Obi-Wan says, pained.

Cody snorts. “It _literally_ is.”

Neither of them has any idea just how true that really is. Jango trained Cody’s batch to a level far beyond the rest of his echoes. He learned from the mistakes he made with the Alpha batch and threw everything into preparing the CCs for the unenviable task of keeping up with - and control of - their future Jedi Generals. He’s done his job well. Too well.

“I suppose so,” Obi-Wan says sadly. “You understand my problem with that, don’t you?” He waits for an answer but doesn’t get one. Stirring a little so he can see Cody more easily, he stills the hand that’s combing through short hair. “Cody?”

“I can’t sleep,” Cody admits. He can protest all he likes, argue genetics until stars go dark, but there’s no disguising the painfully young cadence in his voice.

Encouraged, Obi-Wan resumes his gentle motion. “Tell me why, dear one,” he prompts. They’re not Jedi and soldier now. Not father and son, either. Cody is entrusting a very timid and rarely seen part of his soul into the only hands who have proven themselves willing and able to care for it.

“I woke up and you were dead.” Cody’s shoulders hitch. Jango can’t see enough of his face to be certain, but he’s sure Cody is crying now.

“And now you think the same might happen again?”

“Or that I’m still dreaming,” he admits quietly. Carefully, and very slowly, he lifts his hand to bunch in the sheets over Obi-Wan’s chest. It’s a precise move, one that’s cautious of any lingering hurts, but once made, Cody clings until his knuckles turn white.

“You know none of that was your fault, right?” Obi-Wan asks. His own eyes are bright, his empathetic heart bleeding in the face of Cody’s quiet distress.

“If I’d been there-”

“Then you would have died,” Obi-Wan says firmly. “Or suffered the same fate as Rex.”

“But maybe-”

“No buts,” Obi-Wan says, sterner now. “Cody, when I woke up in that place I believed everyone on Jabiim to be dead. Ventress rejoiced in describing their deaths to me.” Jango closes his eyes and leans back against the wall in misery. He’s lived with the weight of Obi-Wan’s death once and he’s still hemorrhaging from the pain of it. He can’t fathom how Obi-Wan has survived it twice. “Do you know how I found peace?” Cody shakes his head, hanging on every word. “Because I knew that you were safe. I grieved for the pain you would suffer but took joy in the knowledge that you would live. That your brothers would be cared for, no matter who replaced me.”

Cody proves once again that he is too much like Jango for his own good. He can shoulder the weight of the world if he must, but Obi-Wan’s kindness will always shatter the foundations on which he builds his defenses.

Obi-Wan’s tears are silent, but Cody’s are choked and gasping. He hides his face in Obi-Wan’s side and weeps.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan soothes. “That’s it. There’s no one here, dear one. No one will judge your tears.”

Then he lifts his gaze from Cody’s trembling form and focuses through the darkness to the doorway Jango is lurking in like an unwelcome guest. For once he can’t read the look in those beloved eyes, but he knows with certainty that his presence isn’t needed right now.

Perhaps later, when he’s alone, Jango might be allowed to return to his side. But not now. Not yet. Cody’s needs come first. Anakin and Rex will need him, too. And the rest of the boys.

And while once he might have resented that, resented anyone who occupied Obi-Wan’s time and space in his heart, now he feels only a heavy sense of calm. Obi-Wan is alive and safe and that matters more to him than anything.

Jango can wait. He can wait forever if he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'ade draar digu - Mandalorians never forget


	21. Chapter 21

Jango wakes up a split second before Cody kicks him in the thigh.

It’s not a hard kick. It’s also not the light tap you might normally give someone to wake them up, but neither will it bruise. Jango just about clings to an air of dignity as he shifts on the floor outside of Obi-Wan room and mentally reminds himself that he’s not a teenager anymore. His back _aches_.

“We have chairs,” Cody says, flat and unimpressed. When Jango shrugs, the Commander’s stern gaze turns dark. There’s no indication he fell asleep crying in Obi-Wan’s arms just a few hours ago, but he’s smart enough to guess that Jango probably saw _something_ before taking an impromptu nap on the ground. When Jango doesn’t rise to the challenge, the sharp edges of his glare soften a fraction. “He wants to see you,” he says, indicating Obi-Wan’s room. “Upset him and I will throw you out of an airlock.”

Cody doesn’t prevaricate, that’s for kriffing sure.

“Thank you,” Jango says, pushing down every instinct he has telling him to be a smartass.

“General Skywalker will be down to see him in a few hours. Please stay with him until then.” Cody’s clearly as afraid to leave Obi-Wan unsupervised as Jango is. Whether this is a sign Jango is being trusted or not, he can’t really tell.

Cody doesn’t give him anything else to work with before marching off towards the lifts, his back ramrod straight and a solid air of menace permeating from his whole being.

It’s like looking in a kriffing mirror. Or was. Before Jango got old. And fell in love.

Inside the room, Obi-Wan is up and standing by the viewport, his unfocused gaze turned towards the stars. Jango’s first instinct is to send him back to bed, to remind him for what might be the thousandth time in their history that the medic’s instructions are orders, not advice. But there’s something wistful and longing in his expression and Jango doesn’t have the heart to shout at him.

There were things _living_ in Obi-Wan’s beard and hair by the time they rescued him, large chunks of it matted with blood and filth. They’ve had to cut most of it out, his hair now as short and spiky as a freshly decanted shiny and his beard non-existent. Lit by the brightness of a billion stars, Obi-Wan might as well be a projection right out of his memories.

Now they are alone, now there’s nothing he can use to counter the pull of desperation, he moves thoughtlessly to Obi-Wan’s side. He doesn’t know what it means when Obi-Wan immediately rests his head on Jango’s shoulder, but he takes the cue and wraps both arms around him.

“You’re cold,” he murmurs, feeling the faint rise of chill on Obi-Wan’s bare arms. The bacta has done its job well, transforming bone-deep injuries to fresh pink scars and fingerpaint bruises.

“Hmm. You’re not.”

Jango takes the unspoken request and loosens his arms long enough to shuck his jacket and wrap it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He could just put him back to bed, or swaddled him in one of the many blankets pilled at the foot of it, but for all that he _is_ cold, it's also something that goes beyond the physical. Jango takes him back into his arms and sinks into the blissful peace of simply holding him.

Of all the times he’s held his _riduur_ \- both too many to count and not nearly enough - he’s never been stuck by such monumental gratitude.

They stand like that for a while, Obi-Wan with his head on Jango’s shoulder and his eyes on the stars, until exhaustion wins out and Jango ends up bearing most of his weight. He doesn’t budge. If this particular spot is bringing him comfort then they’ll stay there for as long as he needs.

Eventually, Obi-Wan sighs. “I’m angry with you,” he admits softly.

Jango figures. “For the boys?” he needs to clarify his guilt.

“No. Well yes,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m not sure where to even start with that.”

Jango lets his palm curl around the back of his head, his thumb rubbing soothing lines over the tight collection of muscles at the top of his neck. “Then why?”

His touch has the desired effect: Obi-Wan softens further into his arms, near boneless, trusting Jango to hold him. He has to be strong for everyone, for Anakin and Ahsoka, for the Jedi, for his men. He doesn’t have to be strong for Jango. Jango knows his indomitable soul: needing to be held, needing to be _loved_ will never diminish that light.

“Did you even think of me?” he asks brokenly.

“ _Kair’ta_ , _”_ Jango whispers, pained. “I rarely do anything _but_ think of you.” Obi-Wan is the baseline against which he measures every thought and action. That doesn’t mean a huge amount, not when he frequently makes choices he knows his _riduur_ would never approve of, but he stacks that disapproval in his mind to torment himself with at a later date.

“On Geonosis?” Obi-Wan asks. “Did you think of me then?”

Jango’s hand stills. “At which point?” he asks. “When I saw you in the arena? Or when I-”

“Either,” Obi-Wan interjects quickly. “Any.”

Of all the many ways Jango feared this conversation might go, he’s never expected to be allowed to hold Obi-Wan while they have it.

“Do you want the truth?” he asks, his voice so gentle it makes Obi-Wan flinch.

“No,” he says, turning from the stars. “Yes. Yes, of course, yes.”

Jango doesn’t answer at first. This is more than likely going to be the last time he’s allowed to hold Obi-Wan, so he savors each heartbeat. His fingers brush one more time over his hair before tracing the lines of high cheekbones and Obi-Wan’s soft, trembling mouth. He’s closed his eyes at Jango’s tender exploration and seems to understand that he’s not going to like what he hears.

When Jango can no longer put it off, he battles the frantic hammer of his heart in order to tell a truth that’s become so much harder to live with this last month.

“No,” he whispers. “I didn’t think of you.” Obi-Wan nods minutely but doesn’t move, still seeking comfort in the face of rejection. “I couldn’t,” Jango continues, his eyes burning. “If I stopped to think about you then I...” he wants to say that he couldn’t have done it, that he could never have willfully chosen to put Obi-Wan through years of grief and loneliness, but the truth is... the truth is... “I still would’ve done it.”

“For Boba,” Obi-Wan nods understandingly.

“No, _cyare.”_ Honesty _._ Even if it kills them. “Not for Boba.”

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, lashes wet with unspilled tears. Oh, he’ll cry for others easily enough, but it takes a special kind of pain to weep for himself. A special kind of hurt. One very few people have the power to inflict.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to stay with you,” Jango tells him brokenly. “On Jabiim. When I found... when I thought I’d found you.” He tightens his arms, remembering the numbing grief that seeped into his bones. It’s still not completely left him. Maybe it never will. Obi-Wan raises his own arms and wraps them around his waist. “Leaving you then, that was for Boba. On Geonosis... I was afraid. Of you.”

Obi-Wan laughs in quiet disbelief. “The great and fearless Jango Fett,” he mocks softly. “What threat could I possibly pose to you?”

“You’re joking, right?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow. He’s still holding on tight, but they’re speeding towards the end of his goodwill. “Why would I joke?”

“Obi-Wan-”

“Never once, not since we first kissed, have I ever _doubted_ that you loved me. I knew it in my _bones,_ Jango. Every time you walked away, every time you made it clear that _I_ wasn’t enough for you, that you cared for me _despite_ the fact that I’m a Jedi... I never doubted you. I missed you,” the first of his tears finally fall, scalding hot as it trains down his cheek to pool on the edge of Jango’s thumb. “But I rejoiced for you, knowing you’d made the best choice for your happiness.”

Jango shakes his head rapidly. “No. No, I _didn’t_ , I-”

“And then this dream,” Obi-Wan continues, ignoring his protests. “Where we were a family and that I was enough for you-”

“ _Cyare-”_

Obi-Wan’s gaze hardens. “And then I woke up in that place and I thought I’d lost you again, that I’d lost Anakin...” his expression crumbles and for a second Jango is drawn into the well of soul-destroying pain that lives behind those kind eyes. “You had no choice this time, I know that,” he says, swallowing back his tears, “but you did on Geonosis. You chose to let me think you were dead. Was it a joke to you? The foolish, naive Jedi who loves you so much despite _every_ warning not to?”

Jango’s own tears are meaningless. “Do you believe that? Really?”

Obi-Wan drops his brow to rest against Jango’s chest. “No... no, I-” he shudders. “Forgive me, darling, I am just... very tired.”

“Don’t do that,” Jango begs, “don’t pretend that none of this matters.”

“It’s in the past,” Obi-Wan sighs, “and I have already forgiven you. Bringing it up again now is just cruel.”

His skin is warmer now when Jango presses his lips to his brow, but the shiver that runs through his weary body is no less chilled. “Okay, this? Is a conversation we’re picking up again later.”

“There’s no need-”

“There’s a lot of kriffing need,” Jango says firmly. “And there are a lot of - fuck, _so_ many - things I need to apologize for, but-” he places his fingers gently over Obi-Wan’s lips before he can protest. “They can wait for a day when you aren’t just fresh from a month of battle and three weeks of torture.” Obi-Wan flinches, drawing himself tighter into Jango’s arms. “Just, for now,” Jango rests his cheek atop his short hair and closes his eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t know how to stop. I’m an idiot, and a coward, and my choices are a reflection of _my_ failings, not yours.”

“That’s not-”

“This is my abridged heartfelt moment here, Kenobi,” he says, trying to force a laugh, “stop interrupting.” Obi-Wan mutters something highly unflattering into Jango’s chest and it’s at that point Jango loses what little is left of his resolve. “I will be making amends to you and most of the galaxy for the rest of my life,” he admits, “and I’m gonna suck at it, so any pointers...”

“Oh, now you want me to talk?”

The shift in their relationship is undefined, still unsteady, and it will not doubt lay the foundations for everything to come. But at no point has Obi-Wan pulled away from him. At no point has he rejected Jango’s comfort. If this is the first of many uncomfortable conversations, his soul lightens at the unspoken promise that no matter how angry Obi-Wan might be with him, he won’t leave Jango alone to fix things. It’s more than he deserves, far more, but he’s not too proud to take the selfless offer of help from the one point in his life that he has spent years circling. If he lets Obi-Wan’s goodness and light be the sun under which he cultivates his reparations then he’s no longer caught helplessly in the gravity well of a supernova. He is what he is. They are what they are.

He’s gentle when he kisses Obi-Wan. Tender and slow, careful to navigate the dark waters of distress that Obi-Wan is still trying so very hard to pretend don’t exist.

It doesn’t escape Jango that he’s not referred to his torture once, all of his focus fixed on that one point of anger towards Jango. He’s seen this before, even helped lance the poison from wounds left festering on his heart. If that’s what Obi-Wan needs, Jango will help him without question. When he’s strong enough for it. And when Jango’s heart stops weeping every time Obi-Wan is out of his sight.

“There is something you can do,” Obi-Wan eventually whispers against his lips. Jango kisses the corner of his mouth, missing that ridiculous beard more than he ever thought he would.

“What’s that?”

“Take me to see Rex?” It’s a hopeful request, one underlined by a spark of fear that won’t abate until Obi-Wan has seen Rex with his own eyes.

Already knowing he’s going to give in, he puts on an air of heavy resignation. “You really want your _baar'ure_ to hate me, don’t you?”

“Think of it as practice,” Obi-Wan says, patting his arm consolingly. “For dealing with Cody.”

Jango cringes. “Right. I got time to fetch my _beskar'gam?”_ Obi-Wan’s stern _,_ unimpressed look is the kind that can strip the paint off the hull of a starship. “Okay, okay! Then you’ll sleep, right?”

“Yes, darling,” Obi-Wan smiles softly. “Then I’ll sleep.”


	22. Chapter 22

.Anakin makes his way back the medbay, sore and aching from an absolutely brutal sparring match with Mace, but feeling settled enough to seek Obi-Wan out without his own tremulous emotions impacting his Master’s.

He knows Obi-Wan is awake, can feel the warmth of his presence flickering in the back of his mind, comforting Anakin merely by its existence. He also knows that his ability to seek sanctuary in the Force and feel Obi-Wan within it means there are those who are more in need of Obi-Wan’s company than he is right now. Mace looks proud as punch when Anakin admits as much. Apparently selfishness and possessiveness are things others have seen in him right from the start. It’s not a flattering picture to hold up for self-reflection.

He really can’t tell if he’s making any progress with the Soul Healers, but it’s early days. He’s doing as instructed, committing himself with a single-minded focus to honoring his Master’s teachings and memory. And now Obi-Wan is here, alive, the incentive has doubled. Now he gets to _show_ Obi-Wan. He gets to prove to him that his faith and love and belief in Anakin is deserved.

That Anakin has earned the right to cherish those things, for all that they are offered freely.

Part of that means _not_ dumping his banthashite on Obi-Wan five minutes after he wakes up. He’s already bawled his eyes out on the poor man, right up until he stopped breathing in Anakin’s arms.

Then he bawled his eyes out on Jango.

And Mace.

Ahsoka.

Boba.

None of his men, thank the Force, but yeah. Dignity, thy name is most certainly not Anakin Skywalker.

It’s one thing he thinks it is one hundred percent fair to lay at Obi-Wan’s feet.

So between taking much of Obi-Wan’s datawork off a fiercely protesting Cody, overseeing _his_ own reports which often got left to Obi-Wan for ‘tweaking’, an hour with the Soul Healers, twice daily mandatory meditations with Mace to exorcise his emotional turmoil and a further hour of sparring to exercise his pent up energy, Anakin is exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with battle.

He might even go so far as to say that it’s a good exhaustion. A productive one..

He spends his spare moments - few and far between though they are - cradling Obi-Wan’s unconscious mind with his own, knowing with a certainty that’s scored into the carbon of his bones that he’s going to be okay, that he’s going to wake up-

-that he’s never leaving the ship ever again so help him-

-and they can start to rebuild what was put on pause with Obi-Wan’s apparent death.

And now he hovers, freshly changed and childishly nervous, in the medbay entrance, trying to make sense of the riotous laughter echoing from one of the private rooms.

Morale has been on a steady incline since Obi-Wan and Rex’s rescue, more than one shiny getting caught passing on awe-filled rumors of monster wresting and, for some strange reason, dragons. Anakin lets it pass, mostly because he knows it will drive Obi-Wan nuts when he’s finally back on his feet. He suspects Mace is doing so for the same reasons.

Turns out Mace Windu has a sense of humor. Who saw that one coming?!

“He didn’t, tell me he didn’t.” The flat, unimpressed voice belongs unmistakably to Rex. Anakin has spent a fair number of hours sat with him and the other troops while he’s recuperated and his Captain’s dry humor is even more precious to Anakin now that he’s lived without it.

“Oh, he most certainly did.” Anakin’s heart _hurts_ , joy and relief and gratitude vying for dominance at the sound of his Master’s voice.

Which is rapidly followed by a wave of annoyance. “You,” he barks, storming into Rex’s room and immediately locating Obi-Wan, “are supposed to be in bed!”

Obi-Wan is occupying one of the main chairs that have been dragged in over the course of the week, this one more comfortable than most. There are two blankets tucked over his lap and a hovering, stern-faced Mandalorian assassin perched almost delicately on the arm of the chair, one hand braced on the back of it, the other absently stroking the pale fingers that curl over his knee. The absolute adoration and besotted love in Jango’s gaze fill Anakin with joy for Obi-Wan. And clearly explains why he’s here and not in bed. Like he’s supposed to be.

Forget the worry he once had that Jango was taking advantage of Obi-Wan’s gentle nature: the Mandalorian is wrapped _entirely_ around Obi-Wan’s little finger.

“And you,” he says, torn between grinning in sheer happiness at the sight of them and maybe beating Jango around the head with some sense, “were supposed to make sure he stayed there.”

Jango opens his mouth to defend himself, but Obi-Wan gets there first.

“I believe my specific instructions were to rest,” he says serenely. “I believe I am resting well enough. I’m not even allowed to fetch my own tea.” As if on command, one of the shinies who is sitting cross-legged at Obi-Wan’s feet - and there are more than a dozen of them - gets up and starts to head to the door. “No, Freckles, that wasn’t a request. Please sit down.”

Rex snorts from the bed. He is sharing the space with Ahsoka and Boba, both of whom lean into him, their cheeks resting on his shoulders and a sleepy sort of contentment in their eyes. There’s been a near-permanent red flush to Rex’s cheeks this past week, but he looks the most rested and relaxed that Anakin has seen him yet.

“See,” Obi-Wan says guilelessly. “I’m resting.”

“Sure,” Anakin nods. “Want me to go fetch Naps and Kix? See how they feel about this?” He knows for a fact that Kix will not approve of Obi-Wan being out of bed, and since Naps earned his name by the sheer number of times he’s had to badger his patients to bed, he thinks he’s going to be two for two on the ‘get Obi-Wan back to sleep’ front.

“That’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan says quickly, his unspoken plea echoed by the hopeful faces that look at Anakin from every corner of the room. A pulse of distress - of fear - echoes through the bond he shares with his Master and he sighs, as easily defeated as Jango has no doubt been.

He’s heard Rex’s report. He’s seen Obi-Wan medical records - hell, he’s seen Obi-Wan’s brutalized body, felt the echoing screams of his torment across lightyears of space.

Obi-Wan needs this. Needs to be surrounded by people who _need him_ , people who love him and cherish him.

And - oh.

He’s not been able to see from this angle but moving further into the room he can now spot Cody on the floor right beside Obi-Wan’s chair. He has one leg stretched out and is idly cleaning his blaster, obviously in need of some excuse for the crime of just sitting peacefully.

“Please, Master,” Ahsoka asks, her voice soft. “Just a little longer? We promise we won’t do anything that’ll wear Master Kenobi out.”

“He was telling us a story,” Boba adds, his eyes gleaming, “about when he and dad were young.”

“-er, Boba,” Jango corrects, pained. “Young- _er_.”

“Sure dad,” Boba snickers.

“Kids today,” Jango grumbles.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan sighs, his pale eyes warm and focused on Anakin’s face. “No respect.”

“No imagination.”

Boba sticks his tongue out.

Obi-Wan reaches out with the Force and draws Anakin closer, surrounding him with the same light of calmness and peace he’s infused this small space with. Anakin huffs, plays pretend for a moment, then folds himself down until he can put his back to Obi-Wan’s calves. Gratitude and love wash over him, and he leans his head back until it touches Obi-Wan’s knee.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says happily, “where was I?”

“Dad’d just punched the Prince of Edola in the face.”

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan’s chuckle sinks into Anakin’s soul. “It was a sparkling display of wit and diplomacy that, to the shock of no one, landed us in prison.”

“Edola?” Anakin looks up over his shoulder. He’s not heard this story before, but he has heard Obi-Wan mention Edola. Usually with a resounding cringe. “Don’t they resolve all their legal issues by-”

“Gladiatorial combat,” Obi-Wan nods. “Quite so.”

“Where was Master Qui-Gon?” Ahsoka asks, and that is a very good question!

Jango snorts darkly. “Drinking brandy with the Prime Minister,” he says. “The old coot thought it was hilarious.”

“I believe he was trying to teach you some patience, darling,” Obi-Wan says, patting his knee.

“He was teaching _you_ patience, _cyare_ ,” Jango huffs, a hint of a smile pulling the corners of his eyes into small creases. He’s a good thirty years older than the clones, faint pepperings of silver caught in tightly cropped dark curls. He makes an interesting contrast to the men gathered around him, one that forces Anakin to battle an unwelcome wave of melencholy: will any of the clones ever live to be that old?

“I can’t believe Master Obi-Wan was ever impatient,” Ashoka giggles and Jango lights up in delight. Smiling like that, he’s a handsome man.

“Oh kid, you have _no_ idea.”

“Now, darling-”

“I’m gonna tell them about Nar Kreeta-”

“You most certainly are not-”

“I am-”

“This isn’t resting,” Cody growls warningly. Jango immediately deflates, scolded, and more than one of the clones look at Cody with absolute _awe_.

“Quite right,” Obi-Wan says primly. “Besides, I was embarrassing _you_ , an’ee, not the other way around.”

Jango grunts and waves a dismissive hand. “They don’t wanna hear embarrassing stories about me.”

“No, no,” Rex beams, his smile pulling at the fading edges of the scar across his lip, “we absolutely do.”

Obi-Wan looks up at Jango with luminous eyes. “See?”

“Sir?” Ballsy lifts his chin off his brother’s shoulder, curious and shameless with it. “What does that mean? Commander Cody’s taught us some Mando’a but...” he trails off and shrugs.

“Twenty credits says it’s grossly adorable,” Anakin smiles up at his Master and gets a flick to the ear for his trouble.

“I’ll raise you a bottle of moonshine,” Rex chuckles.

“Ah, I think you’ll find that I am now the proud owner of every illicit drop of alcohol in the fleet, thank you,” Obi-Wan says wickedly. “You did promise.”

As one, the clones round on Rex with fire in their eyes. “Hey! There were circumstances!”

“A deal is a deal,” Obi-Wan is _devious_ when he’s teasing.

“Really extreme circumstances!”

“You’re not gonna win this one,” Anakin advises his Captain. “Did you even talk terms?”

“He was practically unconscious!” Rex protests.

“I’m sure I can be imposed upon enough to share,” Obi-Wan says with a dramatic sigh. “Cody, remind me to make some amendments to the cargo manifest.”

Cody has just started to reassemble his blaster. “No need,” he says, not looking up from his task. “Did it last quarter.” Of course he did. Cody is nothing if not terrifyingly practical. His brothers do something so blatantly against regs as opening their own kriffing distillery, Cody will find some way to cover their backs.

“This is why he’s a Commander and you’re just a Captian,” Boba tells Rex, who responds by pushing the kid off the side of the bed. “Hey!”

“Look at that,” Cody says drolly. “Kid’s smarter than you, Rex.”

“ _An’ee_!” Rex says loudly, trying to divert attention back to Obi-Wan and Jango. “It means?”

Jango has moved his hand from the back of the chair and brought it up to rest against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan is leaning closer now, tired but radiating so much happiness in the Force that Anakin decides to keep quiet.

“It’s your language, an’ee,” Obi-Wan smiles up at Jango. “Why don’t you explain?”

Jango rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. “When Obi-Wan and I met, it was under...less than ideal circumstances. And for a year or so after, we were caught up in a lot of conflicts. Now I knew he could fight-” he raises a rueful hand to rub at his jaw, “and I had the scars to prove it.” Boba laughs at him, unashamed in his glee. “But for some reason, he kept trying to talk to the people who were trying to murder us. He wanted to negotiate instead of -”

“Just chopping people’s heads off?” Obi-Wan says in a tone that suggests Jango was highly in favor of decapitation.

 _“_ Which made zero sense at the time _,”_ Jango continues as though uninterrupted. “N’edeemi means someone who has no bite. It’s er-”

“An extreme insult on Mandalore,” Obi-Wan offers dryly.

Jango scratches the back of his neck and ducks his chin. “ _N’edee_ is to soften it. It’s more affectionate.”

“Like when the Commander calls you a reckless idiot?” Boil asks, oblivious to the death glare Cody suddenly adopts.

“Exactly! Mandalorian terms of endearment are very rarely confined to a romantic meaning. Much is reliant on context.” Obi-Wan says, sounding pleased. In fairness to Cody, Anakin calls him far worse. “ _An’ee_ stems from _an’edee,_ which is entirely the opposite.” He reaches up to touch Jango’s jaw, so much tenderness in that simple gesture, the clones breathless and hanging on every word. “One who is all bite.”

“The Negotiator and the Bounty Hunter,” Ahsoka sighs dreamily. “That’s so romantic. Hey, Skyguy, what does Senator Amidala call you?”

Anakin, who has been paying less attention than he should, too preoccupied with plotting ways he can tease Obi-Wan in the future, chokes on a mouthful of spit.

“Suave, kid,” Jango mocks him.

“I, we-” he chokes, a pained lump in his throat. “We’ve never really had the chance,” he says softly.

Obi-Wan brushes gently against him in the Force, promising him time. _You’re still so young_ , his Master whispers to him. _Don’t rush._

 _“_ What other ones are there?” Fives asks with wide eyes. “if we, er, I mean, if we met, or wanted to you know, or-” He’s bright red from the neck of his blacks to the tips of his ears.

“ _Riye,_ ” Jango offers, coming to his rescue, his gaze still on Obi-Wan. “Someone who makes your life better by being in it.”

“ _Cyar’ika_ ,” Obi-Wan adds. “Darling. _Kair’ta_. That one is frequently used in a platonic or familial way; between parents and children, or very close siblings perhaps. It implies a particularly intense connection.”

Jango bites his bottom lip, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “ _Eyayade_. My echoes.”

The clones stare up at him, confusion mixed with longing. And resentment. Jango doesn’t shy away from any of it, but settles a little when Obi-Wan takes his hand.

On the floor next to Anakin, Cody’s knuckles clench white around the barrel of his blaster. It’s a gesture Rex sees as well, meeting Anakin’s gaze before fixing on a smile. “ _Mir'osik._ Shit for brains.”

The strange, slightly awkward silence breaks as Waxer barks out a laugh. “That’s you, vod,” he says, elbowing his brother then ducking away from the answering attempt to drag him into a headlock.

“ _Shabuir?”_ Anakin offers.

“That is not affectionate, Anakin,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“It is if you say it nicely,” Anakin grumbles.

“Didn’t you grow up speaking Huttese?” Rex snorts.

“Yeah,” Anakin nods. “Some wicked insults there. Sleemo’s a good one.”

“What does _E chu ta_ mean?” Ahsoka asks curiously.

Anakin, Obi-Wan and Jango all round on her at once. “Ahsoka!”

“Language!”

“Did you teach her that one, Skywalker?” Jango frowns.

“No!”

“I heard you say it to that trader on Delta Prime,” Ahsoka shrugs. “But I can’t find a translation anywhere.”

“For good reason!” Obi-Wan says, one scandalized hand on his heart. “Anakin, you know better.”

The clones share equally devious looks and Anakin knows he’s going to get the blame for the number of mainframe searches for Huttese curses.

“Sorry, Master,” Anakin says, not at all sorry.

“Isn’t sleemo another word for Bounty Hunter?” Cody asks, his eyes flashing.

“That would be _Murishani,”_ Jango corrects stiffly.

Cody’s apology is all teeth. “My mistake.”

“What in the stars - _GENERAL KENOBI!”_

The collective occupants in the room jump at the furious sound from the room next door - the room Obi-Wan is supposed to be sleeping in.

“I’m in trouble,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Well, this has been a pleasant few hours, thank you. I look forward to seeing you all again in six to twelve months when Naps lets me out of the medbay.” Obi-Wan starts to rise, quickly assisted by both Anakin and Jango, neither of who like the way he trembles at the effort

“Try _years_ , General,” Naps growls, appearing in the doorway. “And as for you, General Skywalker, you should-” Naps rounds on Anakin as if this is somehow _his_ fault.

“Hide me?” Anakin hisses at Fives, who obligingly grabs him by the front of his tunic and hauls him headfirst into a pile of lounging brothers. There’s nothing subtle about it; all the clones fail every lesson at stealth and secrecy they’ve ever been taught, giggling to themselves like children.

“Five minutes,” Naps warns. “Then you’re all clearing out. This is a medbay not a kriffing playground!”

The collective laughter is broken by a sudden shout of "INCOMING!" from Boba, and Anakin, now well and truly buried tries to remember the last time he ever felt so warm.

This is a future he's thought lost to him. He won't lose it again. No matter the cost. 

He's found his purpose in life and will stand between his family and whatever storm may come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious thanks to Izzy who is font of all Mando'a knowledge!


	23. Chapter 23

For the first time since their rescue, Rex wakes up alone. The lights are dimmed, but that doesn’t give him an accurate idea of the time. They keep a twenty-four-hour watch on the Negotiator: it’s always ‘day’ for someone. Cody’s probably on duty. Jesse and Echo and Fives as well. Jango’s dragged Boba away with a stern order to leave Rex in peace, and neither Ahsoka or Anakin can neglect their duties for long, especially with Obi-Wan out of action.

He opens his eyes, his heart in his mouth, and the monitor next to the bed rudely protesting his distress.

Dreaming, then. Not the first time. Not even unexpected. He’s had extensive SERE training on Kamino, one backed by a fairly intense psych course. ARCs are expensive to train and take considerably longer to churn out than regular troopers. They’re not indisposable - none of them are - but more effort is put into teaching them the finer details of the things they might encounter while serving the GAR.

So Rex knows, academically, that his head is just trying to process shit. That it can take time to properly file trauma away and that he needs to do it carefully to avoid it bitting him on the ass at a later date. It’s just one thing to _know_ that and something else entirely to put it into practice.

It’s helped, having his brothers around. Having the warm weight of their bodies beside him and the soft sound of their breathing to make the dark a little less empty. Now he’s alone, he can’t help but eye the medical droids warily, thinking how easy it would be for them to repeat the same tortures Ventress’s droids turned on him. He’s alone with them, alone with only his own thoughts and fear, and he hates it.

Pushing back the sheets, he slides off the bed. The cool floor beneath his toes doesn’t help him focus. It was cold in his cell, too.

Tiptoeing from his room, he goes in search of the one person he knows will understand.

The connection he feels with Obi-Wan is a strange one. He’s shared life or death moments with the General before and even more of them with his brothers. They weren’t held in the same cell, they didn’t see each other for the three weeks they were captives, and yet...

Obi-Wan’s room is dark as well, but he’s not alone. The silent, watchful figure of Jango Fett sits beside the bed, his hand around Obi-Wan’s and a datapad emitting a dim light balancing on his knee.

“You okay, kid?”

Truth is, Rex still doesn’t know what to make of Jango. On a surface level, he likes the guy. He’s funny in a dry, sarcastic way that fits well with Rex’s own sense of humor, and he knows how to hold his own in a fight. Add that to the fact that he so obviously adores Obi-Wan and it’s hard not to like _this_ Jango Fett. The problem he’s facing is that he doesn’t know if this - the wryly tired father and devoted husband - is the real Jango, or if the cold, merciless, cruel man from Kamino is. Rex never interacted with Jango the way Cody did, but he heard the rumors and he can never forget the look in Cody’s eyes when they went for firstmeal one morning and half his batch was just... gone. Trying to reconcile the two very different men is almost impossible.

And if Cody ever makes him chose, he won’t even have to think before picking a side. None of the clones will. They’ll pick Cody, and Cody knows it. The fact that he’s not asked them to says far more about him than it does Jango.

“I, yeah - I’m-”

“Rex?” Obi-Wan opens his eyes slowly, frowning as he focuses through the darkness. The last thing Rex wants to do is wake him up. He wants Obi-Wan to _be_ awake and it’s not the same thing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling small with guilt.

“Don’t be sorry,” Obi-Wan says, pushing himself up on the bed until he’s sitting. Jango fuses, checking he has enough pillows to be comfortable. “Bad dream?”

Rex scratches the back of his neck. “I woke up and-”

Obi-Wan holds out a hand and beckons him closer. “Have you been sleeping at all?”

“Sure,” Rex says quickly. “I mean, not for very long, but yeah, I’ve been sleeping.”

“Do you find it harder to fall asleep, or stay asleep?” Obi-Wan asks, taking his hand and closing both of his own around it. He’s wearing the expression he wears when he’s trying to work out the solution to a problem, wide awake now and focused on Rex as though he’s the single most important thing in the world.

It’s mortifying, and yet...

“Both?” He looks across at Jango, half expecting to see the disappointment in his eyes. Jango expects the best of them, and this is... well it’s hardly the best, is it?

“Don’t look at me like that, kid,” Jango says gently. “Believe me when I say I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. You’re handling it a lot better than I used to.”

“Because he’s sensible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, half praising Rex, half scolding Jango, who rolls his eyes fondly. “And he lets people help him when that help is offered.”

“Can you?” Rex blurts. “Help, I mean?”

“I can help you find sleep,” Obi-Wan nods, “and I can promise it will be undisturbed. But Rex, I must insist you speak to a Soul Healer: I can’t do this for you indefinitely, it would be a disservice to you in the long run. “

“Soul Healer? Aren’t they for Jedi though?” He’s heard Anakin mention seeing one this past week, but he has no idea _why_.

“They’re for anyone who needs it,” Obi-Wan corrects, “although I do need to speak with the Council about that. We have been criminally lax in providing for your mental health.”

“Good luck getting that one past the Senate,” Jango snorts. Rex still isn’t entirely sure what they’re talking about.

“I shall have to ask nicely, shalt I?” Obi-Wan flashes Jango a wry little half-smile before focusing again on Rex. “Let me in, dear one? I promise to respect your privacy.” It occurs to Rex that Obi-Wan can probably just barge his way into his head and Rex would never be the wiser for it. He nods without hesitation, the sheer fact that Obi-Wan is asking making it impossible not to trust him. The sunlit smile he gets in return makes it feel as though _he’s_ the one offering _Obi-Wan_ the gift. “Thank you.”

Falling asleep usually just happens for Rex. One second he’s awake, and then he’s not. He’s never struggled with it before, knowing how important it is to sleep whenever and wherever he has to. This time he has a little more awareness. Not much, not enough to do or say or move, but he can feel himself growing weightless, his limbs light and no longer aching, his head quiet, his soul at peace. Through weighted lashes, he can make out the dark shape of Jango circling the bed. A strong hand hooks under his shoulder, another under his knees, and then he’s resting against a pillow that’s still warm from Obi-Wan’s body heat. He starts to protest because this is _not_ what he had in mind, but drifts off to the feeling of sheets being pulled up to his shoulders, and the image of Jango pulling Obi-Wan onto his lap, blankets carefully tucked. Obi-Wan settles his head on Jango’s shoulder, his own eyes closing.

Rex sleeps.

He wakes up back in his room, this time with Cody quietly working beside him.

“Morning, princess,” his brother says gruffly.

Rex makes an undignified gurgling sound, realizes he’s been drooling on his pillows, and briefly contemplates pretending he’s in a coma.

“You’ve been sleeping for a week and a half,” Cody continues, only glancing at Rex from the corner of his eye.

“ _What_?” Rex launches himself out of bed, gets his legs tangled in the sheets, and is only saved from yet another headfirst collision with the ground by Cody’s quick reflexes.

“Kidding! I’m kidding!” Cody says, holding him firmly before helping him back into bed. “It’s been eight hours.”

“You _fucker_ ,” Rex says furiously.

“Consider it payback for letting me think you were dead,” Cody shoots back. “You have any idea how much datawork that shit came with?”

“You’re all heart,” Rex grumbles, clutching the sheets, and his dignity, to his chest. He knows Cody is only - mostly - joking. His brother’s sense of humor is _dark_ , but there are lines at the corners of his eyes that he’s far too young to have and his expression of passive calmness has become so fixed his face might start to crack. “Consider that _my_ payback for having to watch you kriffing bleed to death.”

There’s only a dark red scar peeking out from the top of Cody’s high necked collar, but Rex can remember far too well the absolute bloodbath it had been trying to keep the thick shard of shrapnel from severing Cody’s jugular. He’s not entirely convinced Obi-Wan didn’t do some finagling with the Force: Cody should’ve _died_.

“That make it my turn to nearly die again next?” Cody asks, propping his elbows on the side of Rex’s bed.

“Fuck no,” Rex grumbles. “I am calling a combined victory on the nearly worrying each other to death front.” Cody’s grunt of approval is deeply pained and it dislodges something in Rex’s chest. “I am sorry, ori’vod-” he can’t remember the last time he called Cody his big brother out loud - yesterday’s sappy nickname session must be getting to him - but the moment he says the word, Cody’s posture changes. For all that he is a peerless Commander, Cody’s truest strength is as a brother. There’s no one better. Rex kriffing adores him, used to idolize him as a kid, and still kinda does now, and it makes this all the harder. “I let you down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He was on my watch,” Rex chokes. “And I didn’t protect him.”

“You got him out,” Cody says seriously.

“I think he got me out, actually,” Rex shrugs. “Freaky Jedi shit.”

Cody’s snort is at once amused and pained. “If you’d not been there, he’d be dead.” Rex starts to argue. Cody holds up a hand to cut him off. “I mean it. He thought everyone was dead. Seeing you gave him something to fight for.”

He remembers the utter joy in Obi-Wan’s bruised eyes at seeing Rex alive and sighs. “She’ll come for him again. She’s obsessed.”

“And we’ll learn from our mistakes,” Cody nods seriously. “In the meantime, you need to get your head right, okay? Once we get to Courscant, I want you and Kix to-” the datapad on his discarded chair chimes obnoxiously, and he reaches for it with one hand “-organize a season with-” he glances at the pad and there’s no masking the way his eyebrow climbs right into his hairline.

Rex, who will never, ever admit to being as curious and nosy as he is, grabs his arm and tries to lean over to see the screen. Cody puts a hand on the side of his head and shoves him down into the pillows, ignoring his squark and reading with an increasingly unimpressed expression. “Whahaaa?” Rex says through a mouthful of pillowcase.

“We have new orders.” Cody lets Rex sit up, tucking the datapad under his arm.

“Already? I thought we were supposed to have a tenday leave?” General Windu made as much clear, citing every excuse from repairs down, but clearly intending it as time Obi-Wan can spend recovering peacefully.

Watching Cody’s face grown more and more grave, Rex loses his patience. “I’m gonna be signed out of medical later today,” he points out, “I’m gonna find out anyway.”

“Mandalore,” Cody says grimly. “We’re going to Mandalore.”


	24. Chapter 24

_“Be careful on Mandalore. That planet demands blood from its sons and once it’s had a taste it rarely retracts its teeth.”_

And with that, with what might be the most melodramatic statement Anakin has ever heard the Councilmember say, Mace departs back to the front, leaving the 501st and 212th to wonder if maybe a trip to Mandalore might not be as exciting as they’re all hoping it will be.

It's a thought clearly shared by Jango as he slowly escorts Obi-Wan - now dressed in a clean set of robes - onto the bridge. They're six hours from Mandalore, and that's a whole six hours he should be resting.

“No offense, Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka says warily before Anakin can jump right in with full offense. “But are you even cleared for duty?”

Obi-Wan bristles. It might be more intimidating if he still had the beard, but instead, it leaves him looking more petulant than anything else. “Of course!” She and Anakin both look to Jango. As do half the men. “What are you looking at him for?”

“Light duties,” Jango clarifies. “He’s allowed to lift a mug and scowl at a screen for twenty-minute intervals.”

“I’ll get right too it, then,” Anakin clears his throat and ignores his Master’s annoyed expression. “We’ve been asked on behalf of the Duchess of Mandalore to investigate a terrorist organization known as Death Watch. For the past six months they have claimed responsibility for a half dozen attacks, the latest of which was at the Royal Academy in Sundari. Thirty-two people were injured, including Duchess Satine’s nephew-” Anakin has the mission briefing, but it's worryingly light on specifics. He knows Obi-Wan will have also read it and might be able to fill in some gaps.

“Tell me that witch didn’t procreate,” Jango mutters in disgust.

“If you’re referring to Bo Katan,” Obi-Wan says mildly, “then no. Korkie’s father is Satine’s brother.”

Jango cringes. “The one I put in a coma?”

“That would be him.”

“Why would you put him in a coma?” Anakin demands. The more time he spends with Jango, the more he’s convinced that a few - granted, very serious - blips aside, he’s handling his shit far better than Jango did at his age.

Obi-Wan pats Jango’s arm soothingly. “He had just tried to trade me to a man who wanted to cut my head off,” he explains to Anakin. Which, okay, totally valid response.

“This was when you were on Mandalore to protect the Duchess, right?” Ahsoka tries to clarify. Obi-Wan nods. “So why would her brother try to betray you?”

Settling himself gingerly down into one of the command chairs, Obi-Wan takes a moment. “Alright, for purpose of the mission, and because it will no doubt become highly relevant, I will attempt to condense thirty years of Mandalorian history as concisely as I can. Jango, do feel free to add anything relevant-” he holds up a warning hand. “ _Relevant_. As in, adds value. They don’t need to hear about how much of a bastard someone was, or how much they deserved you shooting them in the face. No one is interested.”

Rex opens his mouth, then quickly thinks better of it.

Catching Anakin’s eyes, Jango winks. He’ll get the gory details later.

“As you know, Satine has been Mandalore’s Duchess since the end of the Civil War. This is the same conflict that saw Jango’s adopted father, Jaster Mereel, who was then _Mand’alor_ and _Al'Ori'Ramikade-”_

“What?” Anakin hasn’t heard that one before.

“ _Al'Ori'Ramikade,”_ Jango explains, _“_ Commander of Supercommandos. All _Mand’alor_ are _Al'Ori'Ramikade,_ but not all _Al'Ori'Ramikade_ are _Mand’alor_.”

“That makes sense,” Ahsoka says, then turns to Anakin and whispers, “Does that make sense?”

“I’m just hearing ‘guy was badass’,” Anakin whispers back.

Obi-Wan glares balefully, but Jango snorts. “He made me look warm and fluffy.” Anakin has wondered what kind of father a man like Jango might have. This sounds about right.

“Mereel’s main rival at the time was Tor Vizsla, leader of a splinter group known as Death Watch-”

“ _Bastard_ ,” Jango says emphatically.

“Very much so,” Obi-Wan surprises them by agreeing.

Anakin frowns at the name. “Vizsla as in _Pre_ Vizsla? The guy who tried to murder you and the Duchess?”

“He _what_?” Jango demands. “When? Why does he still have a head?”

“Those are very good questions,” Rex mutters.

“You were playing dead at the time, darling, you don’t get to be grumpy about the things that you missed.” Jango’s jaw snaps closed, his clenched fists whitening. Pre Vizsla is going to get his teeth kicked in, Anakin just knows it. “Now stop interrupting.” He presses a hand to his chest as he coughs, oblivious to the worried glances shared around him. He really should _not_ be out of bed. “As I was saying... Vizsla held a more, shall we say, _extreme_ idea of what Mandalore - and Mandalorians - should aspire to-”

“He wanted to kill everyone,” Jango shrugs. He seems to pay as much attention to Obi-Wan’s instructions as Anakin does. Surprisingly though, Obi-Wan _isn’t_ shooting him down with the force he often turns on Anakin. Which, horrifyingly, makes sense a few seconds later. “Tor Vizsla killed Jaster at the Battle of Korda Six -” he laughs bitterly “- almost ten years to the day after killing my birth parents.” There’s silence on the bridge. No one knows what to say, and they are all certain that any attempt at platitude will be rebuffed. “There was a... thing... with his second in command, but ultimately, I was named _Mand’alor_ after his death.”

“Tor then worked with the Governor of Galidraan to manufacture a dispute. He employed the Mandalorian’s to aid them-”

“Which we did,” Jango says bitterly. Obi-Wan’s hand moves higher up his arm, comforting and grounding him.

“And when payment came to be taken - which included Galidraan handing Tor over for justice - he attacked.”

“That’s where the Jedi got involved, right?” Ahsoka asks, her voice soft.

Obi-Wan nods grimly. “The Galidraan government had already requested aid from the Council, claiming that the Mandalorians were murdering political activists. When Tor sounded the attack, the Jedi, operating on false pretenses, moved to suppress what we believed was an active threat towards an unarmed civilian population.”

Jango’s jaw works harshly, something dark and furious moving behind his eyes. For all that the event was a misunderstanding - a terrible one, with horrific consequences for those involved - Anakin’s not sure he’d be able to find forgiveness in his heart were he Jango.

“The Jedi made a mistake?” There’s confusion on Ballsy’s face, on many of the clone’s faces.

Obi-Wan smiles sadly. “We are not perfect, not by any stretch. Our desire to protect was manipulated, yes, but we acted rashly and without proper intel. There has been conflict between the Jedi and the Mandalorians for many millennia: we did not stop to question our prejudices, and in failing to do so, took the lives of many innocent people.”

“What happened next?” Echo asks breathlessly.

Obi-Wan looks up to Jango, clearly willing to take his lead on how much detail they go into for this next, painful part of the story.

“I was captured,” Jango says grimly, his gaze fixed on the viewport above Cody’s shoulder, “and handed over to the Governor of Galidraan. Who passed me right over to Tor.”

“And he didn’t kill you?” Cody asks in disbelief.

“Vizsla was a narcissistic purist,” Jango says, his smile cold, “and, in his eyes, I was _aruetii -_ not a real Mandalorian. The fact that I was _Mand’alor_ infuriated him. My humiliation was more satisfying to him than my death, so he sold me to slavers.”

“And that’s how you met Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka’s attempt to focus Jango on the positive is a painful reminder to Anakin just how good - and how young - his Padawan is. She’s far more than he deserves.

“Eventually, yes,” Obi-Wan nods. “After Galidraan, the war continued. Death Watch had their victory, yes, but they’d taken a massive loss and didn’t have the numbers for an all-out coup. There were those still loyal to Jango, and then there was Clan Kryze. If Death Watch symbolized a return to Mandalore’s bloody past and Jango its traditional traits, then Clan Kryze was a more moderate option. Satine’s parents reached out to the Council and keen to help rectify a situation we had exacerbated, my Master and I were sent to provide protection. When her parents died, Satine became a figurehead of peace for many who were tired of the war, and a target for those who were not. While protecting her, I ended up-”

“Sharing a cage with me,” Jango cuts in with a wolfish grin.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Not the most auspicious of meetings.” The two of them share a private little smile.

They’re both crazy. Actually crazy. The fact that Jango _didn’t_ kill Obi-Wan, the first Jedi he encountered after the slaughter of his people, and the fact that Obi-Wan _fell in love with_ Jango...

Nuts. Abjectly insane.

“Did you kill him?” Rex asks. His voice is soft, serious, and the rest of the clones are hanging on every word. In a way, this history is _their_ history too. “Tor Vizsla?”

Jango smiles with all of his teeth. “Oh yes. Eventually.”

“One of our first adventures,” Obi-Wan smirks. Oh, there is absolutely a story there. One that’s probably not for the ears of innocent troopers.

“So Death Watch wasn’t in control of Mandalore, Tor Vizsla was dead, and the Duchess...wasn’t the Duchess yet? Why didn’t you go back to being _Mand’alor_?” Rex frowns.

Of all the answers Anakin thinks Jango might give, he’s surprised when they’re met with blunt honesty. “Shame.” That’s all he says, but the single word rings with pages of truth. Anakin was born a slave; he grew up with the realities, knowing the rules, knowing the _consequences_. For a man like Jango - an adult, a warrior, a _king_ \- the shift was no doubt a brutal one.

Taking pity on him, Obi-Wan continues where he left off. “When it became clear Jango wasn’t going to claim the throne, support fell to Satine. She abolished the title of _Mand’alor_ and left many of the more violent traditions behind, and established herself as a pacifist. Something that has not gone down well with many of the other clans, including what remains of the Vizsla’s.”

“How exactly did a clan whose leader murdered one _Mand’alor_ and betrayed another into slavery end up in command of anything?” Cody demands. “Let alone the former leader’s son become Governor of Concordia?”

Jango rounds on Obi-Wan with a flail of his arm. “Exactly! That is _exactly_ my question.”

“Satine wanted to bury old animosities,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing the bridge of his nose before trying to stroke his beard and scowling furiously at its absence. “It was a show of faith and unity.”

“Which apparently blew up in your face and tried to kill you!”

“Perhaps we missed the obvious signs-”

“And now Death Watch are back and trying to kill her.”

They’re both glaring now, Jango almost sharking with anger and Obi-Wan well and truly battened down into his infuriatingly stubborn bullheadedness.

“What’s the worst-case scenario here?” Cody asks, trying to refocus their attention. Good man.

There’s a long pause before Obi-Wan finally tears his eyes away from Jango and addresses them all. “If left unchecked, Death Watch will either succeed in assassinating Satine, or they will create a situation of sufficient civil unrest to trigger an uprising against the government. Either way, that leaves control of Mandalore’s fate in their hands. And they will, I have no doubt, wish to have a more active participation in the war.”

“On the _seppies_ side?” Rex frowns.

“Mandalore doesn’t have much time for the Republic on a good day,” Obi-Wan sighs. “And given a choice between siding with an army currently led by the Jedi, or one controlled by a Sith...”

There’s a soft, very emphatic _fuck_ from somewhere in the room.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says wryly. “Quite so.”

“Do we know where Vizsla is now?” Anakin asks. Cutting off the head seems like the best place to start.

“We do not. However-” he looks back at Jango. “I can think of a few ways to lure him out.”

Anakin has to be imagining the blood on Jango’s teeth when he grins ferally. “Can I kill him?”

Obi-Wan’s sigh is one of perpetual exhaustion. “I would much rather you let me arrest him.”

“Then I can kill him?”

“I’m with Fett on this one,” Cody says, and somewhere on the other side of the galaxy, there’s a snowstorm on Tatooine. “That kind of threat is one best eliminated at the source.”

“I do appreciate your concern,” Obi-Wan nods. “But there’s no way Satine will allow it. Besides, Vizsla might prove to be a useful informant.”

“Satine can shove her ridiculous headdress up her ass for all I care about what she will 'allow',” Jango grumbles.

“The _Duchess_ will be expecting you to set an example to the more impressionable factions of Mandalorian society,” Obi-Wan says fiercely, “as will I.” When Obi-Wan’s voice goes that cold and that low, you best jump right to obedience. Anakin’s learned that through very hard-won experience. Jango seems a little more resistant. “Which leads us to our plan of attack.” Backs straighten around the room. “Cody, you and Rex will work with the palace and Sundari Security Forces to establish checkpoints and safe zones throughout the city. We need to identify the most vulnerable targets and establish a visible presence in each.”

“Sir,” Cody nods.

“Sundari has a unique infrastructure; you will need to work with it in order to establish a strong base of operations. Death Watch will have access to local knowledge that we will need to acquire.”

“We’ve got it, General,” Rex promises.

Obi-Wan nods. “Anakin, I want you working with the investigation. Find what they cannot.”

“We’ve been given full access and promised complete cooperation,” Anakin nods. “I’ll have a report for you in twelve hours.”

“Excellent. Ahsoka?”

“Yes, Master?”

“I’d like you to spend time with Korkie Kryze. He is being trained to succeed his aunt after her death and that makes him both a high-risk target for assassination and a valuable asset should be recruited to Death Watch’s cause.”

‘You really think he would turn on his family?” She looks horrified by the idea.

“The Civil War was messy,” Jango tells her, his anger simmering down to something more easily contained. “It tore clans apart. We want to avoid the same happening again.”

She nods in rapid agreement. “I’m on it.”

“What will you be doing?” Anakin asks. “And don’t say protecting the Duchess because ‘light duties’ doesn’t include being someone’s bodyguard.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agrees reluctantly. “That task shall fall to Jango.”

“Lucky me,” Jango mutters.

Obi-Wan continues as though he’s not heard him. “I shall be merely an advisor.”

“You mean bait,” Cody says flatly. “Vizsla won’t turn down a chance to go after Fett. Not with their history. The easiest way to him is through you.”

Jango’s fluctuating anger makes a whole lot more sense.

“No,” Anakin says. Nope. Not a kriffing chance.

“It’s not really a discussion, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says mildly. “I am of limited use right now, and I trust you all to do your jobs. If everything goes to plan I won’t be in the least bit of danger.”

“When,” Anakin asks furiously, “has anything _ever_ gone to plan for us?”

Obi-Wan smiles.

Anakin wants to punch it right off his stupid, beardless face.

“There’s a first time for everything.”


	25. Chapter 25

A lot of effort has gone into redesigning Sundari Palace. Gone are the banners Jango remembers, and the long tables the clans would gather around to drink and debate. The walls, having been demolished at least twice in Jango’s memory, have been rebuilt of colored transparisteel, millions of lights dancing together playfully as the city’s artificial sunlight filters through them. It’s an icon of transparency and beauty, but each tiny shard, triangular in shape, adds an integral strength to the design the old structure lacked.

It’s certainly Satine’s design. Pretty and harmless and with a hidden skeleton of _beskar_.

Jango isn’t prepared for the wave of nostalgia that hits him as they make their way from the hanger to the palace. The boys filter to their tasks quickly, a small contingent of Royal guards escorting Anakin and Ahsoka to their respective investigations.

That leaves Obi-Wan and Jango to make their way to the audience chamber under the polite oversight of a tall man wearing a Commander’s insignia.

Satine is waiting for them, seated on a throne Jango remembers hiding behind when he was a child, newly brought to the bustling palace.

“Thank you, Commander,” Satine says, dismissing the guard, who snaps his heels, bows, and backs out of the room.

The moment the doors close and seal them in a cocoon of privacy, Satine practically takes flight across the room and throws both of her arms around Obi-Wan. “You horrible, _horrible_ man,” she sobs, clinging to him desperately.

Jango takes a step back. He is _not_ getting involved in this one.

“Hello, Satine,” Obi-Wan says, patting her awkwardly on the back. “I’m sorry rumors of my death appear to have caused you such distress.”

“Such-” Satine abruptly stops crying and pushes back, her hands on his shoulders. “Have you always been so stupid? Did I somehow miss it when we were children?”

Okay, maybe Jango can get a _little_ involved. “To be fair, he has gotten worse over the years.”

She shakes her head disparagingly, then takes a moment to collect herself. “Greetings, _Mando'ad_."

“ _Neral’ika,”_ Jango responds. It’s inherently disrespectful to refer to his Mand’alor by the cruel nickname he gave them as a child, but... we’ll she’s spurned the title, hasn’t she? And it _is_ his father’s throne she sits on.

Obi-Wan chokes on air and Satine’s eyes narrow.

“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“I can let Death Watch kill you if you like?” he offers with a shrug. He’s in full _beskar’gam_ , but she can no doubt tell he’s smirking. Obi-Wan certainly can.

“Five minutes,” he mutters, “you couldn’t even last five minutes...”

“It’s alright, Master Kenobi,” Satine takes a step back and lets her arms fall to her sides, that flash of emotion - of humanity - well hidden behind a politician’s smile. “Jango and I are perfectly capable of rising above childhood rivalries. We have an agreement.” Her eyebrow raises pointedly and Jango has to bite back the urge to say something rude.

He does still need her help. That’s literally the only reason he’s here. Or most of the reason. Obi-Wan would come no matter what and Jango’s not leaving his side, but Satine needs to be under no illusion that he’s doing this for _her_.

Whether he’s doing it for Mandalore... even he’s not sure.

“I am at your service, Duchess,” he says with an exaggerated bow.

“And I offer my most humble gratitude,” she says, sounding far more genuine. “Thank you, Jango.”

That...

Kriffing politicians.

“I am required in a holomeeting shortly,” Satine says, walking them to the door of the chamber. “But if you’ll kindly join myself and Prime Minister Almec for latemeal we can discuss our position moving forward.”

“That will be fine,” Obi-Wan nods, as easily settling into his politely dispassionate Jetii persona as she is the politician. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

“It is the least I can do,” Satine says demurely. A light tap on her bracelet and a service droid enters through a side door. “C9 will see you to your room.”

There’s no comment on the fact that they are together, or that he knows his way around the palace without a kriffing droid, and they take their leave with a neat little bow from Obi-Wan and a grunt from Jango.

“Don’t say it,” Jango grumbles as they are lead through the hallway.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to,” Obi-Wan sighs, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his robes. “It actually went far worse in my head.”

“The things I do for you, _N’edee.”_ He shakes his head.

Obi-Wan’s answering smile is wry. Then pained. “Please try and avoid calling our host an ‘annoying little pebble’.”

“No promises,” Jango shrugs. “She annoying. And short.”

As Obi-Wan chuckles softly, Jango starts to wonder where Satine will put them. For a horrible moment, he’s scared she’ll give them his old room. He quickly thinks better of it. Her nephew no doubt lives in it now.

Instead, they are brought to the guest wing. The droid opens the doors and shows them into a large suite. It has wide open doorways onto a circular balcony. It’s a room Jango’s not been in before, but one he knows the purpose of.

Sneaky Satine.

Obi-Wan looks vaguely uncomfortable with the finery, his eyes skimming over several enormous couches.

Jango dismisses the droid and goes in search of the one thing he hopes Satine has given them access to.

Popping his head into the fresher, he quickly grins.

There are certain types of rock on Mandalore, or were before the wars ravaged the planet, that have healing qualities remarkably similar to bacta. Most of the precious resource was mined centuries ago, sold off or stolen over the many years, but there has always been a number of them in the palace. Expert craftsmen chisel them down, creating large tubs for bathing in. There are public baths on the grounds of the palace carved wholly out of the healing rocks, and here, in the room reserved for the most important royal guests, a huge round basin big enough for a half dozen people.

The tubs aren’t magic fix-alls, but when filled with the hot, steaming waters that have filtered through the planet’s many fissures and springs, it’s impossible not to step out of it feeling less pained than when you stepped in.

For all her many - many, _many_ \- personality flaws, Satine is nothing if not conscientious. And she knows Obi-Wan well. He won’t be dragged back before the healers, but there are few indulgences he enjoys more than a good, hot bath.

First step, then. They have several hours before being expected to join Satine and the Prime Minister, which means Jango has more than enough time to get Obi-Wan relaxed enough to sleep.

“Blast!” Obi-Wan’s irritated exclamation is followed by the shattering of glass. His hands are trembling violently, no matter how hard he seems to be working on stopping them. The morning's activities have worn him out.

“Hey,” Jango catches hold of his arm before he can try to bend and collect the broken pieces. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you get out of those clothes and I’ll run us a bath?”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says miserably, his cheeks pink with mortification. “I’m usually far more robust than this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Patience, Jango tells himself. _Patience_. “You were tortured for three weeks, _kair’ta.”_

 _“_ It’s not like it’s the first time though, is it?”

He wraps his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and lays their foreheads together. Jango is intimately acquainted with failure, but there’s no one alive who reminds him of it quite so much as Obi-Wan. “This time was different.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says slowly, a haunted flash of true horror in his eyes, “it was.”

A light kiss to his brow is all Jango allows himself. “A bath,” he encourages, “and a few hours sleep before tonight.”

“I really should-” he starts to protest.

Jango silences him with a look. “Obi-Wan, I respect your position within the GAR, and I know better than anyone how much you can endure, but-” he holds up a hand in command for silence “- _but_ right now, in _this_ moment, I am not some civilian consultant; I’m your kriffing husband. I _am_ going to take care of you. It will be less traumatic for both of us if you’d just do as you’re told for _once_ in your life.”

Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, and for a horrifying second, Jango fears he’s made him cry. Then he swallows, his eyes dry, and nods.

“Thank you,” Jango breathes, kissing his cheek. “Now go on. I’ll clean this up.”

He watches Obi-Wan move silently towards the fresher, his shoulders hunched and his posture small. It’s not something Jango has seen in him for a long time, not since he was a deeply insecure teenager, and the desire to take up less space, to fade from the center of attention is as ill-fitting now as it was then. Jango’s not the only one who sees it: Obi-Wan’s presence is as bright and unavoidable as a sun. When he steps into the room, everyone turns to him in expectation. He’s learned to embrace that aspect of his being, to be that point of calm everyone looks to, but some times, times like this, it’s like Obi-Wan forgets who he is and what he’s capable of and tries to retreat into the posture and presence of the unwanted padawan he once was.

Whatever Ventress did to him has inflicted damage far more insidious than anything physical they have tried to heal. Damage Jango can most likely never understand. He has to accept that Obi-Wan sees things differently, that he _feels_ things in ways that are purely spiritual. The hardest part of loving a Jetii isn’t battling with their Code or fear of attachment, but having to accept that there are simply some things he will never be able to experience that are necessary and profoundly intimate to a Jetii’s soul.

What was once a point of misunderstanding and mockery is now the thing Jango cherishes the most in his _riduur_. And Ventress has violated that. That mask raped his mind. Anakin felt the psychic wounds in him when they began their rescue and collapsed into a fit of agony so tumultuous it had apparently taken the whole Council to break him free from the pain. That’s what Obi-Wan is living with right now, and Jango really has no idea how to help.

It’s hard to be protective when he knows with cold certainty that he can’t actually stop something from happening again. Oh, Jango can be a physical deterrent to anyone looking to harm him, absolutely, but he has the psychic talent of a particularly misshapen rock. Obi-Wan will have to defend himself if Ventress comes for him again.

Right now, a strong wind can knock him over, let alone a Sith.

He needs to heal. To regain his strength. That’s where Jango can help him.

But dear kriffing hells, he’s just gotta be difficult about it.

Cleaning the glass and calling a maintenance droid to remove the trash, Jango eventually follows Obi-Wan into the fresher.

He’s already started running the water, letting it run clear and hot. In an ideal world, he’d throw in some _behot_ leaves and let the extra properties of the potent anti-inflammatory herb ease the deep muscle tension Obi-Wan still carries. Jango has always found it a calming scent, a citrus balm sweetness that soothes his mind, but Obi-Wan reacts to it like a stimulant. The last thing they need is for Jango to fall asleep and Obi-Wan to start buzzing.

Instead, he adds in a dozen handfuls of crushed _capoli_ petals. The small, baby pink plant has no medicinal purpose, but they’d grown in abundance around the cave the both of them had hidden in after escaping Concordia and the scent evokes a nostalgic feeling of safety that makes Obi-Wan smile.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he says, beckoning Jango closer.

“I am?”

“You did say a bath _for us_.” The smile that blossoms is as soft and soothing as the petals that float on the water.

“I did,” Jango agrees. Let it never be said that Jango Fett can’t get in _and_ out of his armor in record time.

He lets Obi-Wan get in first, hovering like a worried mother tooka as he climbs over the edge of the tub on unsteady legs. When he’s settled, his back to the polished green and blue crystal, Jango climbs in himself. He means to sit opposite, but an insistent tug on his wrist draws him over to sit with his back against Obi-Wan’s chest.

Yeah. Okay, no complaints there. Still, “Thought we agreed you were a terrible pillow?”

Obi-Wan hooks his chin over Jango’s shoulder and tangles their fingers together. “I can move if you like?”

“No, no moving,” Jango shakes his head. Already the soothing properties of the rocks are wicking the tension and ache from his body. Yeah, he’s not got any plans to move for a while.

Leaning back more comfortably, he settles into Obi-Wan’s arms, content to be held and taking just as much comfort from the embrace as he knows Obi-Wan takes from giving it. It’s in Obi-Wan’s nature to protect and nurture. Jango’s stepped into that role more recently, but he’s willing to share it in order to help his _riduur_ regain some of his equilibrium.

Besides... it’s nice. Being held by someone who loves him unconditionally.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are closed, his head resting against Jango’s and the water comfortably lapping at their shoulders. “Have I thanked you recently?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur. There’s a breeze coming in from the open window and it dances with the fine drapes that hang around it. The breeze, like the green meadow visible beyond the window, is artificial. There’s nothing but wasteland beyond the city, but these are the view’s Jango’s grandparents might have known.

“For what?”

“Staying,” Obi-Wan drops an absent kiss to the top of Jango’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to.”

He imagines a world in which he left Obi-Wan after bringing him back to the Negotiator. He tries to picture himself in his kitchen, tending his poor fucking garden, and listening to the holonet the morning they announce the death of General Kenobi. Would he have allowed himself to grieve, or would he simply have told himself that it was inevitable?

“I’m never leaving you again,” Jango promises. “So long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever, then.” Obi-Wan’s smile is beatific. And damning.

And here is as good a place as any for the truth.

“You might change your mind,” he warns.

“If I know the truth about Kamino?” It’s difficult, trying to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes when he refuses to loosen his grip around Jango’s waist. “I’m a Jedi, darling; I don’t need to read Cody’s mind to know how he feels about you. Those kinds of emotions don’t stem from nowhere.”

“Then why don’t you hate me?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow climbs infuriatingly. “Not _hate_ but... _fuck!”_

“Cody and the boys have no legal rights, Jango. They don’t even own the clothes on their backs or the weapons we send them off to fight with. Their experiences, their _traumas_ , are their own. To be shared if and when they chose to share them. Just like yours. It’s not my place to condemn you, darling, nor do I believe Cody would ever ask me to. Let your fear of me knowing the truth leave you. Let it wash away with the water.”

“I wanna make it right,” Jango admits, relaxing under the hypnotic promise of Obi-Wan’s reassurance and the dizzying tranquility of the bath. “I have no idea how to start.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Of course I’m kriffing sorry, how can-”

“Have you told _them_ you are sorry?”

“I tried,” Jango admits. “With Cody. My timing might not have been the best...”

“Let me guess,” Obi-Wan shakes his head with fond exasperation. “You were both grieving and angry?”

Jango contemplates sinking below the surface of the water. “Something like that.”

“Then maybe try again? When emotions aren’t quite so tense?”

“You realize we’re in the middle of a conflict, right? We’re literally at the epicenter of what might end up being yet another civil war. When exactly do you think is a good time?”

“Trust your instinct,” Obi-Wan says in that maddening Jetii way of his. “A word of advice?” Jango nods. He’s started to run his thumb over the rise and fall of Obi-Wan’s knuckles, the mindless rhythm stabilizing and grounding him. “Cody cares far more about his brothers than he does himself, and you could do worse than making an effort with some of the other boys.”

“If I even try to talk to one of the little ones he _will_ shoot me,” Jango warns.

“You’d scare them senseless,” Obi-Wan agrees, not pulling his punches to spare Jango’s feelings. “Perhaps start with Rex? I think Anakin has thrown him off so many things he might have forgotten how to be afraid of you.”

“You know I’m better at hitting people than I am talking to them,” he grumbles.

“You manage fine with me.”

“You’re fucked in the head, though,” Jango shrugs. “And you’re stuck with me, so...”

“That’s true. Don’t worry, darling, I will help. If Cody decides to kill you I will petition for a stay of execution.”

“Oh _thanks_ ,” Jango starts to laugh. Five minutes of peace in Obi-Wan’s arms is all it’s taken to lift years of tension from his shoulders.

Warm lips touch his jaw. “You’re welcome.” They settle back comfortably together, watching the water slowly clam to crystal stillness before lifting their toes and letting the ripples dance together. “Can I admit to something terribly sentimental?” Obi-Wan asks, one of the soft petals stuck to the side of his toe.

“You’ve never let me stop you before,” Jango grins, gently pulling Obi-Wan’s leg until it’s wrapped around him and obligingly removing the offending flower.

Lean thighs give him a warning squeeze. “Very funny. But I did just want to say - and at the risk of sounding terribly condescending - that I am proud of you. Taking responsibility for the boys, coming here... I know being back on Mandalore isn’t easy for you.”

“Just don’t leave me alone with Satine,” he grumbles, pushing down against the urge to turn and hide his face in Obi-Wan’s throat.

“I promise,” Obi-Wan whispers. “You do know you have nothing to be ashamed of, right? By choosing to step away from politics. What you said...”

Shame. He said it was _shame_ that turned him away from the throne. It’s not even a lie.

Wriggling until Obi-Wan loosens his hold, Jango propels them both into the deepest part of the tub and turns until he can take Obi-Wan’s jaw in his hand and kiss him deeply.

It’s a kiss of gratitude. Of love and devotion and of complete, unquestioning certainty that he made the _right_ choice all those years ago.

Yes, shame kept him from reclaiming his title. But he comes from a culture of warriors: there’s always a way to regain honor if it has been stolen from you.

Obi-Wan smiles against his lips, his fingers curling through Jango’s short hair, their bodies pressed together in such perfect design that only a million years of chance and hope could possibly conspire to make them so.

Jango could be _Mand’alor_ now, if he’d made another choice.

If he’d drawn his Jetii lover into his arms, kissed him as he is kissing him now, and then cut out his heart.

_Mando'ad draar digu._

A Mandalorian never forgets.

The Jetii murdered his people.

And instead of taking his revenge, Jango gave one his heart.

An outsider can never understand the cost of Jango’s choice. Just as he can’t reach inside Obi-Wan’s head and fight his battles for him.

There are some differences words just cannot bring meaning to, and this is one of them.

Oh, but Jango would make it again.

Gladly.

And with great shame.


	26. Chapter 26

A small part of Jango thinks he should probably be offended that Obi-Wan thinks he can use sex as a bribe for good behavior.

It doesn’t even get traction against the significantly more vocal opposing side, which isn’t just _okay_ with Obi-Wan bribing him with sex, but downright enthusiastic.

The trial run consists of Jango making it through an entire meal with Satine and Almec without once giving in to the urge to drown one or the both of them in their own soup. Now he has Obi-Wan straddling his thighs, riding him slowly, his hands in Jango’s hair and his mouth a sweet distraction from the rest of the world.

Aside from officially being the best morning in at _least_ fifteen years, he’s now firmly committed to saving Satine’s scrawny neck. And not just because it gets him sex, no no, he’s _altruistic_ : sex is a great rehabilitative exercise for someone working to rebuild their strength and stamina. He’s helping Obi-Wan’s recovery and- _kriffing hells_.

Given the amount of sex they used to have - so much sex - they’ve actually been very controlled and demure since their reunion. That one, near-death experience aside. Which doesn’t really count anyway. No, they’ve made out like horny teenagers and cuddled together to sleep - maybe the odd fumble in the fresher - but they’ve mostly been too preoccupied with death and/or avoiding it.

So this... this is... can he say sex is nice without feeling old?

Kriff it. This is _nice_.

It’s also very, very different from the ways they used to make love. Or fuck.

Very few people mention just how utterly insane sex with a Jedi actually _is_. The whole super flexible bendability thing aside, Obi-Wan has the knowledge, power, and more importantly the fucking deviousness, to leave Jango a boneless wreck. Not that Jango can’t hold his own, because sure he can, but the point is—

Obi-Wan arches his back, bares his throat and... what was Jango thinking about?

“ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, N’edee, ner Jett’ika mesh'la.”_

Obi-Wan’s hands slide down from his hair to cup Jango’s cheeks. “My fearsome Jango.” It’s a gentle tease, one made with a sweet smile and sparkling eyes and it’s _true_. The galaxy knows Jango’s name, his reputation, but only his _riduur_ knows his soul. With Obi-Wan, he doesn’t just _want_ to be soft, to be gentle, but he’s _allowed to be._

That doesn’t mean he can’t be a _little_ rougher. It’s early, almost painfully so, which means they have at least another hour before the rest of the palace starts to wake and their duties will take hold of their attention. He grins up at Obi-Wan, flashes his teeth, and tightens his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. It freezes his sensual movement, pins him tight in Jango’s arms, surrounds him, overwhelms him and-

“Obi-Wan you gotta wake up you need to see this and _oh no you’re having sex..._ ”

Anakin’s abrupt entrance to their suite is only made more awkward by his oblivious rampage through their nice, quiet, intimate morning. Obi-Wan has his back to the door, but Jango has the perfect view over his shoulder.

Anakin, proving himself once again to be the exception to so many rules, manages to inhabit a place of complete obliviousness until he’s only feet away from the bed. At which point it’s probably hard to miss the fact that both Obi-Wan and Jango are _very_ naked.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says slowly, not turning to look at him. “I know I taught you better than to just barge into someone’s room uninvited.”

Anakin seems to be in a state of acute shock. Not only does he nod in agreement, but he then backs away, unblinking eyes wide and filled with all the horror you’d expect in someone who has just caught his mentor having sex. Then, to prove both that he’s a kriffing moron, and that the universe has a piss poor sense of humor, Anakin steps back through the door, closes it, and then rings the fucking chime.

“He’s usually more intelligent than this” Obi-Wan says calmly. “But I suppose it really could be worse.” At Jango’s pointed - and pained - raised eyebrow, he chuckles. “It could’ve been Anakin _and_ Boba.”

“I’m never having sex again,” Jango says seriously. “Ever.”

“That’s a pity,” Obi-Wan snorts, gently easing himself off Jango’s lap. They’re still alone, but Jango doesn’t hesitate before grabbing their discarded robes and throwing one of them at Obi-Wan’s head. “Do you need some help, darling?” he asks, his eyes very much _not_ on Jango’s face.

“No,” Jango shakes his head rapidly. “Yes? I... I’m gonna-” he waves a hand awkwardly in the direction of the fresher. “Do _you_ need a hand?”

And are they talking _literal_ hands here or just...

He’s gonna kriffing _kill_ Anakin.

“I just need a moment to gather myself,” Obi-Wan says, and he’s so serene it that there’s no possible way he isn’t mentally tearing Anakin at least two new ones through their bond.

The door chimes again, and then there’s a loud knock. “Please, _please_ stop having sex, this is serious!”

“Yeah,” Jango launches himself off the bed and greatly regrets not landing in a vat of boiling acid. “You deal with - that-”

Obi-Wan might be able to just channel his inner Jedi and tell his dick to calm the fuck down, but Jango doesn’t have that option.

Safe in the fresher, he glares at his reflection. This isn’t even close to the first time he’s been caught with his dick out - or in, or... He’s a soldier, and he was a prince. There was literally no privacy as the first and no secrecy as the second and he’s pretty sure he’s been caught having sex with _Obi-Wan_ before, and can’t understand why he’s so kriffing irritated.

Other than the obvious reason, of course.

Only... only this wasn’t _sex_ , was it?

Stupid kriffing Anakin.

He officially has a way in with Rex now. If any of his echoes will jump on board a wild revenge ploy against the infamous General Skywalker, it’s going to be his long-suffering Captain.

When he eventually steps out of the fresher - clutching the edges of his robe like a virgin on their wedding night - the only indication Anakin gives that anything has happened is a pointed refusal to look at anything _other_ than Jango’s face. He’s so fixated and it’s so unnerving Jango’s almost tempted to flash him and see what happens.

“Focus, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says patiently. “You were saying?”

“What? Right. Yes. The investigation.” He makes a good start. Then he falls silent again.

Somehow his awkwardness makes Jango feel a little more settled. “And?” He prompts, circling around to stand at Obi-Wan’s side. He puts a hand on his _riduur’s_ shoulder, mostly to fuck with Anakin, and can read Obi-Wan well enough to know when he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yes!” Anakin clears his throat. He gives himself a little shake and snaps into a more appropriate seriousness. “The investigation’s brought up a complication.”

“Only one?” Obi-Wan muses. “That’s rather disappointing.”

All of Anakin’s awkwardness melts away to be replaced by a look of supreme annoyance. “I’m serious.”

“I know, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says gently. “Why don’t you tell us what you found?”

Anakin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a holodisk. The blue sequence of numbers it displays mean absolutely nothing to Jango. Nor Obi-Wan, from the shape of his frown. “What are we looking at?” Jango asks.

“It’s the datastamp of a transmission received at ground zero of the explosion,” Anakin says. “We’re fairly certain it's from the device used to trigger the explosion.” He pauses, waiting to be sure they are both paying attention. “I recognize it.”

Jango’s expression twists in surprise - it’s a kriffing long number - but Obi-Wan seems to accept his certainty. “From where?”

Anakin’s eyes become shadowed. “When you were gone - dead - I might’ve gotten very drunk with Dex one night,” he admits. Jango can feel the sympathy and regret rolling off Obi-Wan even without powers, and it seems to settle Anakin like the comfort of a warm embrace. “He wanted to know more about the people who put the hit out on you.”

Guilt curdles in Jango’s gut. He should’ve done more. Should’ve helped Anakin somehow.

“He found something?”

There’s a reason Obi-Wan goes to Dex for intel and it’s the same reason Jango will often do the same. The man knows _everyone_. And he has his favorites, Obi-Wan being at the very top of the list. Jango got a skillet across the back of his bucket when he and Obi-Wan first got together. Honestly, he’d rather fight all of Death Watch blindfolded than square off against Dexter Jettster.

“Not really, no. He got a list of every known off the books hit - called in a lot of favors. There were no names, but there were a lot of sequence ID numbers. I followed them all up and they didn’t go anywhere so I figured he’d been given bad data.” He shoves his hands back into the sleeves of his robes. “I wasn’t gonna tell him; he just wanted to do something, you know?”

“I know, Anakin.” Obi-Wan reaches out and puts his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I appreciate the effort, really.” He probably also appreciates the fact that by giving Anakin something to focus on, Dex likely steered him away from a more destructive breakdown.

Anakin’s hand settles over his Master’s and squeezes. “One of the numbers on that list matches this one.”

“What does that mean?” Jango frowns, feeling the tension starting to creep into his spine.

“Possibly nothing,” Anakin shrugs, “but the chances of it being a coincidence are one in seven hundred million.” So unlikely then. “Anyway, I triangulated data from the attack with the city’s security database and found a match.”

“We’re fucking dying of suspense here, kid,” Jango snaps.

Anakin, surprisingly, looks wary. “It originated at a dataserver registered to Clan Kryze.”

“It’s not Satine,” Obi-Wan says immediately.

“Master-”

“He’s right.” Jango has to close his eyes in self-disgust for a second because _how_ is he at a point in his life where he’s defending Satine kriffing Kryze? “Satine is many things. Many not so great things - no I don’t care what you say N’edee, she’s as ruthless as I am when it suits her - but even if I could buy her putting a hit on Obi-Wan, she’d never bomb her own people.” Satine is a different kind of Mandalorian than Jango, but not that different.

“There’s every possibility someone is trying to implicate Clan Kryze in order to force a Republic intervention,” Obi-Wan says thoughtfully. “Or it could be a less friendly Kryze.”

“Bo Katan,” Jango says flatly. “ _Now_ can I kill her?”

“The question is,” Obi-Wan continues, ignoring Jango’s homicidal urge, “why she would be interested in having me killed? The bombing makes a certain kind of sense: she’s never held Satine’s political ideologies in high regard and this is a way of destabilizing her rule.”

“But what does that have to do with you?” Anakin asks. “And why dead _or_ alive? You think she’d try and use you against the Duchess?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Satine would allow them to kill me before negotiating.”

It’s true and depressing, and the only choice Satine would have.

“So someone on Mandalore - maybe Bo Katan, maybe not - wants you dead. Or alive.” It looks like Anakin and Jango get to engage in some violent bonding time together after all.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan says mildly, oblivious to the murder brewing in Jango’s heart. “How perplexing.”

Perplexing, he says.

Jango’s going to com Cody and then he’ll see how _perplexing_ things are. Obi-Wan isn’t going to be able to _breathe without_ a trooper taking record of it.

Someone might want him dead or alive, that much is true, but more than that...

Someone wants Obi-Wan Kenobi on Mandalore.

And that someone is going to have to answer to Jango.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! I ran headfirst into a migraine and it's taken a while to get back on my feet. :(
> 
> Rex just wants to do his job, Jango is Having a Day, Satine and Obi-Wan WILL argue at any given opportunity, and sending a Jedi who has spent weeks being tortured by Sith on a mission after like, five minutes of recovery, shockingly comes around to bite everyone in the ass...
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Canon character death.

“So. This is Mandalore.”

“It’s... shinier...than I thought it’d be.”

“That’s ‘cos everything’s new.”

“No, I get that. I just... figured there’d be more...”

“Public executions? Street brawls? Violent displays of affection?”

“They say hello by headbutting each other!”

“ _We_ say hello by headbutting each other.”

“Like I said! Violent affection!”

“It’s called a Keldabe Kiss.”

The whispered bickering of Fives, Echo, Jesse, and Kix comes to an abrupt silence. They all stiffen, snapping to attention, and the sharp contrast to their usual playfulness draws Rex’s attention away from the report he’s reviewing and towards his men.

_“Be careful.”_ Those were Jango’s words before he and Cody departed with their respective units. _“Not everyone is gonna be pleased to see you.”_

Jango, Rex is starting to realize, is as prone to gross under exaggeration as Fives is the opposite. Not everyone, he says. Rex has, personally, been spat on twice. He’s not sure if it’s because he represents the Republic, because he’s a clone, or because he’s _Jango’s_ clone. Either way, it’s... testing his patience.

And it’s putting him on edge.

So at the sound of this new voice, he lowers a hand to rest over one of his blasters and moves closer to his men.

Rex has spent his entire life around people in armor and he knows how to read the things it cannot hide.

From the stranger’s voice and lean stature, he guesses it’s a woman. She holds herself well, confident, and experienced, and she’s well armed.

“Ma’am,” Rex draws her attention away from his men. “Can we help you?”

It’s a pointed question. They’re in a private wing of the Royal Academy, reviewing the security servers and witness reports from the recent attack. The fact that she’s here means she either has an authorization level they need to respect, or she’s a potential threat. Either way, his focus narrows.

The one big thing he’s noticed, the one thing that tips his brain more towards her being a threat than an ally, is her armor. Some around the city still wear the old, traditional _beskar’gam_ Mandalore is famous for, but it’s not _common_. There are enough of them that she doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb and not enough of them to put Rex at ease.

And then there’s the condition of it. Most of the people he’s seen in armor have a look very similar to Jango. The individual pieces are well-cared for but clearly worn. Jango’s own armor tells a new story every time Rex looks at it, the paint chipped and scuffed in a collection of battle scars that barely scratch the surface. One look at him tells you that he’s seen some shit.

Just like Rex and his brothers.

This woman, though physically at ease, wears the armor of a shiny.

It’s fancy as well. _Beskar_ doesn’t come cheap, and hers is worked into fine detail.

So, process of elimination?

Wealthy. Confident. Well trained, but in armor that hasn’t seen much combat.

“Lady Kryze?”

That’s the correct title for the sister of a Duchess, right?

A quiet chuckle confirms his suspicion. “Well you’re politer than Fett, that’s a good start.”

And not really that hard.

Her nephew was injured in the explosion. That must be why she’s here. “Is there something we can help you with?”

Bo Katan Kryze looks over her shoulder and checks the doorway. A small group of the city’s Security Services watches her carefully. They don’t interfere, but neither are they rushing to speak with her.

He’s missing something here. Rex is a Captain, yes, but Cody’s only two rooms away. The General is at the palace. Why is she approaching _him_?

“To the point then,” she says softly. “I need you to relay a message to Jango Fett.”

“You’re the Duchess’s sister,” Rex says slowly. “I’m happy to serve, but-”

She moves quickly. His men all go for their weapons, but Rex holds up his hand, stopping any further escalation as she unclips a dark metal cylinder and thrusts it into his hand. “Tell Fett not to fight. Tell him we’re even now. And _not_ to fight.”

And without further word, she turns and flees from the room.

Jesse and Fives move to follow her, but Rex shakes his head. They can’t detain her, they have no authority and no cause.

Strange though she is.

“That was weird,” Fives whispers before turning to Echo. “That was weird, right?”

“That was weird,” Echo agrees. “What did she give you, sir?”

And that’s what takes Rex’s morning from boring, to weird, to aw shit.

In his hand, solid and heavy, sits the unmistakable hilt of a lightsaber.

* * *

“It’s like you _want_ to get shot!”

Surprisingly enough, it’s _not_ Jango that yells that in Satine’s face.

Oh, he’s thinking it, he’s absolutely thinking it, but it turns out he’s forgotten one key fact about the strange relationship he, Satine and Obi-Wan have: he’s the sane one.

“Refusing to authorize a military strike is _not_ the same thing as inviting an assassin into my home and you know it!”

Jango raises his hand, not quite stupid enough to actually draw the ire of the two furious combatants but still feeling the need to point out that Satine has, in fact, invited an assassin into her home. And put him in the best guest suite.

“Not a word, Fett!” Satine snaps, not breaking eye contact with Obi-Wan.

He does love that about his _riduur_. Faced with the absolute scum of the universe and he’s calm, collected, and dispassionate. Faced with a single obstinant Mandalorian and he’s spitting kriffing feathers after five minutes.

It’s really hot. And if Satine wasn’t here...

Then he’d probably be screaming at Jango and that _always_ ends in a good fuck. Or it used to, at least.

But, well, he _is_ yelling at Satine and she is absolutely yelling right back, and who the _fuck_ decided to assign Jango to the post of rational adult?

“You are delusional if you think this will just go away in time!” Obi-Wan shouts. There are twin spots of red blossoming on his cheeks and Jango is half convinced the only reason he’s not passed out on them is out of spite.

“I will not take us backward! Too much has been sacrificed by too many to give in now just because things are hard.” Jango admires Satine’s spine, he does. He thinks she’s crazy and he can’t stand her personally, but he can see her fire. The fact that she’s held onto power - and peace - for this long speaks volumes. “Do you truly believe that nature can never be brought to heel by compassion? That we are bound to instincts millennia out of date? That we must subject our children to bloodshed and war because our base instincts demand it of us? That we cannot learn! That we cannot be better?”

There are furious tears gleaming in her eyes. Obi-Wan’s opinion means a great deal to her, his respect even more so, but she will walk the path she thinks is right regardless of what he or Jango or half a planet of bloodthirsty dissenters have to say about it.

Obi-Wan knows it. It’s written in the lines of resignation around his eyes. “It’s not a case of being ‘better’ or ‘worse’ and it never has been. Everyone can learn from their mistakes, can strive to make different choices, but you can’t force change on the unwilling! Death Watch will settle for nothing less than your death!”

“Most of my people are living happily in peace. They are thriving, free to make choices that we were denied as children, free to live without fear and pain. Death Watch and their supporters represent a _fraction_ of the population, and yet you ask me to betray the many for the crimes of the few?”

Jango rubs his palm over his head. And it was such a pleasant morning... “How is sending a strike team to Concordia betraying anyone?” he asks, horrified to hear himself speaking so much more rationally and calmly than his _riduur_.

Satine rounds on him and for a second the elaborately jeweled headdress she is wearing wobbles precariously. She stands straight, steadying himself and her emotions. “I took a vow of pacifism to prove to the Mando’ade that we were more than our past,” she says carefully. “To lead by example, to prove that there is _always_ a non-violent solution to your problems. If I betray that, I betray the faith they have put in me.” She briefly closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, they are free from the angry tears that had formed. “Do you know why I wear this ridiculous headdress?”

“Is it a fashion thing?” he asks the question to Obi-Wan, who raises a helpless shrug.

“It is to remind me,” she says, reaching up and pulling long pins from her hair, “every time I wear it, of the weight of responsibility I carry.” Over a dozen pins are set down before her, each one ringing loud in the otherwise empty throne room. “To remind me never to take the easy way.” Finally unsecured, she lifts the headdress from her crown and sets it down with an audible thud. A ring of bruises sits stark on her pale skin, pressed into flesh where the wide band of the headdress rests. “It is my keystone and my burden and my solemn promise to never again allow my people to be drawn into a conflict where vod betrays vod.” Her sharp chin clenches fiercely. “I wear it as a reminder that I am only able to make this vow because my family profited off the pain and misery of another’s. I wear it for you, Jango Fett. So that I might not make your mistakes. And that I do not forget what might befall our people if I fail to protect them as I failed to protect you.”

Jango shakes his head. “No... you didn’t _fail_ me?” He understands her desperation to protect her people, he understands it more than she can possibly know, but she has no responsibility for him. None at all. “You were a child when Vizsla betrayed us.”

She meets his gaze unwaveringly. “My parents knew you were alive and did nothing,” she says evenly. “No. More than that, they lied to your subjects. Vizsla was an arrogant coward, but he was a fool. One who could be outmaneuvered far more easily than Mereel’s beloved son. You were a martyr to our people, a cautionary tale. I could’ve told someone what I knew. I could’ve told the Jedi. I didn’t.”

“That was years ago,” Jango says seriously. “You didn’t put me in chains-”

“I benefitted-”

“ _Stop_.” His voice rings throughout the room. For a moment, he thinks he’s hearing his father. “Just... we’re not here because of the past. It’s done. We can’t change it.”

A warm hand settles on his arm, Obi-Wan’s bright, empathic gaze holding the shadows firmly at bay. Jango nods his head and tries to pretend that this is exactly the way he saw his day going.

He’s just about had enough of _talking_ and he’s way past due the opportunity to hit something.

“Forgive my temper, Duchess,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I only wish to be of service but I am...out of sorts. It won’t happen again.”

“I value your temper, Obi-Wan,” Satine says, a shadow of a smile slowly blossoming. “The angrier you are with me, the more certain I am of my path.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes dramatically and Jango takes the brief moment where their attention is diverted to shore up his defenses.

“Regardless,” Obi-Wan says dryly, “if it is possible to deal with Death Watch peacefully, I assure you, we will fi-”

He drops like a stone.

“Obi-Wan!”

Jango hits the ground knees first in his attempt to catch Obi-Wan before he cracks his head against the floor.

He distantly hears Satine calling for help, his entire focus narrowing only to the man in his arms as he shakes violently, muscles spasming and his spine arching until he's almost fighting Jango's attempt to hold him steady.

The blue of Obi-Wan’s eyes are no longer visible, rolled back, hidden by the rapid flutter of his lashes. A cold sweat breaks out across his brow and when Jango slides his fingers along Obi-Wan’s pulse his heart is hammering as though he’s fighting for his life.

And just as quickly as the invisible attack starts, it finishes. His eyes refocus. He stops shaking.

Jango doesn't. What the _fuck_ was that?

Obi-Wan goes still, then throws himself out of Jango’s arms with a scream. “No!”

Jango stays on his knees, utterly useless, completely out of his depth. Shock freezing him in place.

Seconds pass as he tries to understand what just happened.

When the doors to the throne room fly open, when Anakin, Ahsoka, and a contingent of guards rush towards them, their horrified eyes fixed on Obi-Wan, who sits and rocks Satine Kryze’s lifeless body in his arms.... Jango still doesn’t have an answer.

He looked away. He let down his guard.

And that’s the second Mand’alor he’s failed to protect.


	28. Chapter 28

Anakin starts running _minutes_ before he feels it. Ahsoka doesn’t understand: she follows obediently, struggling to keep pace with his longer legs, pale in the face of the fear that’s hammering down against Anakin’s senses.

Something’s wrong. He reaches for Obi-Wan’s familiar presence and finds him tightly shielded, overcompensating in face of the many fractures and wounds still worn fresh on his soul.

Whatever Anakin is feeling, whatever he’s _sensing_... it’s not familiar, but he recognizes it. He’s felt it before, he’s sure of it.

And then it hits.

That insidious, niggling feeling of _wrong_ becomes a sledgehammer of hatred that swings from out of nowhere and lands with brutal, calculated accuracy on the largest fracture point in Obi-Wan’s shields. It’s a blitz attack there’s no countering, and Obi-Wan, still so unsteady after Ventress’s torture, shatters on impact.

Still running, Anakin draws on the Force for extra speed and tries to pull his Master behind the safety of his own shields. But while the mask cut Obi-Wan off from the force and crawled its way inside his unprotected mind, whatever is doing _this_ works merely to overpower him.

And it works. As weak as Obi-Wan is now it would take an attack of far less ferocity to overwhelm him. This is overkill. A hatred so overpowering and all-consuming that it makes Anakin’s skin crawl and his stomach heave. Who can _possibly hate_ Obi-Wan this much?

As fast as the attack comes, it leaves just as quickly. Anakin can feel his own tears wet against his cheeks as he throws the doors to the throne room open with his mind, palace security close behind him.

His gaze goes first - always - to his Master. Obi-Wan is white with shock and pain, a trickle of blood drawing a line from his nose to the bottom of his chin.

Behind him, Jango kneels, stunned to stillness.

And in Obi-Wan’s arms, her pale eyes wide open, glassy and lifeless, Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore lies dead. A single blaster shot to the head.

Pandamonium breaks loose.

As the guards move to secure the scene, Anakin scans the high vaulted ceiling, looking for a vantage point, a place where-

His gaze narrows, his senses reaching out with the Force, and, _there_ -

“The shooter came from the roof,” he calls out, spinning around to face Ahsoka. “Snips-”

“On it!” She shouts, already leaping high into the air and catching hold of the narrow ledge that leads to a small, barely perceptible gap missing from the shimmering walls of colored glass.

Before Jabiim, Anakin would’ve been the one to make chase, but he trusts Ahsoka and right now there is nothing standing between Obi-Wan’s wounded mind and a second attack.

His Master’s defenses lay in ruins. Without the overwhelming wall of physical pain he ran into after Obi-Wan was freed from the Sith Mask, he gets his first real, unguarded glimpse into the thoughts and emotions that are usually kept locked away.

There’s too much to sort through, the storm too wild to find sure footing. Obi-Wan’s grief is breathtaking - for Satine, yes, but for the men, for Jango, for Qui-Gon, even after all these years. He hurts down to the rock-solid foundations of his soul, layers of calcified violence, rejection and misuse fusing to form a bedrock that remains unshaken, even after this attack. It’s the core of his endurance, the thing that drives him onwards when everything else is stripped away. Anakin leaves it be. Trusts in Obi-Wan’s innate strength. And tries to focus on everything else.

As the room fills with more frantic courtiers and guards, Anakin helps two medics gently remove the Duchess from Obi-Wan’s arms. He doesn’t want to let go, something fractured behind his eyes.

“Fett,” Anakin barks, not taking his eyes off his Master, “be useful.”

The stern order shakes Jango out of his shock, a soldier’s instinct rising up from beneath the stillness of horrified surprise to take control.

He takes Obi-Wan’s hands in his own and whispers to him in soft Mando’a, too quickly for Anakin’s novice experience to translate. He can’t know what comfort he brings, but Anakin can feel it. Jango’s presence blooms bright in Obi-Wan’s mind, a focal point for the frantic flutterings of his emotions to flock to. Jango calms Obi-Wan, centers him the way Padmé centers Anakin. That’s good. He can work with that.

Anakin’s never done this before. Not truly. He’s wrapped his Master in Light, in warmth and comfort and positivity, but he’s never tried to fix the shattered remains of anyone’s shields before. That’s not something he’s any good at. He doesn’t know how to be careful, even when he tries. What if he makes things worse? His own mind is still a mess, the Healers openly admitting how much work he has to do to consciously anchor himself in the Light. He can’t risk hurting Obi-Wan. Can’t risk _contaminating_ him.

But the longer he spends hovering on the outskirts of Obi-Wan’s mind, the harder it gets to stay _out_. It calls to him, familiar and easy, and as he lets their minds touch, he realizes a truth he would never have believed only a few short months ago.

He and Obi-Wan have far more in common than he’s ever imagined.

All the pain and loneliness and uncertainty Anakin feels finds a reflection in his Master. They’re two of a kind, destined to be one whole, balanced. And where Anakin’s unruly emotions vie for dominance and battle against his training, Obi-Wan’s are all infused with the Force.

After so many years of thinking his Master above such base emotions, Anakin finally feels the dawning of an epiphany.

Obi-Wan is terrified but trusts the Force.

He’s lonely but finds comfort in its presence.

He’s in pain but allows it’s soothing touch to wash away unshed tears.

He’s exhausted but knows the Force will lend him its strength.

He’s angry but finds peace in releasing it.

He grieves, but already he can feel Satine’s spirit echo in the world beyond sight.

He loves and the Force sings with joy at its purity.

Anakin’s fear leaves him. Whether he succeeds or fails to help Obi-Wan rebuild his shields, he knows he can’t break him. He couldn’t even if he tried. Obi-Wan is rooted in the Light, blood and bone and beyond.

He reaches out with renewed confidence, and Obi-Wan reaches back. Together, they rebuild what’s broken, Anakin standing watch while Obi-Wan shifts through the pieces.

“I’m alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan finally whispers. “You can let go.”

They both open their eyes.

“What,” Jango demands, half furious, half frightened, “the _fuck_ just happened?”

Obi-Wan ignores him, pushing himself to his feet instead, wobbling unsteadily until Anakin steadies him. “Take it easy,” he cautions.

“Satine?” Obi-Wan’s confusion sharpens at the sight of Satine’s body being carefully transferred to a hoverbed. “No...” the pain encapsulated in that one word is breathtaking. 

Through the calamity, Prime Minister Almec elbows his way forwards, an accusatory finger aimed in Obi-Wan’s direction. “You were supposed to protect her!” he spits, his hand trembling with anger. “‘ _I trust Master Kenobi,_ ’ that’s what she said! I’ve seen your kind deflect dozens of blaster bolts and you can’t even protect her against _one_ shooter?”

“We don’t know _what_ happened,” Jango snaps, stepping forward until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan. “But maybe look to your own security before you start blaming us!”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Almec sneers. “A _Jetii_ and a _hut'uunla aruetii._ She was a fool to trust either of you.”

“She clearly didn’t trust you,” Obi-Wan responds heatedly. “How did an assassin sneak past some of the most respected warriors in the galaxy?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Believe me, Prime Minister, we will be conducting our own investigation.”

Almec goes white with rage. “You have no authority to do that.”

“We were invited here by the Duchess,” Obi-Wan’s temper is rapidly cooling, his anger and grief passing into the Force in exchange for ice-cold focus. While it’s preferable to him being a catatonic shell, the colder Obi-Wan’s mood, the harder it is to reach him. He needs to see a medic - he needs to see a Soul Healer - and Anakin knows he will refuse until the mission is complete.

“Well the Duchess is _dead_ ,” Almec points at her still body. Obi-Wan refuses to look away.

“You don’t sound very upset about that,” Anakin provokes. Almec is angry, but he’s not upset. And he’s hiding something.

The Prime Minister rounds on Anakin, heat flashing in his eyes. There’s that spark of fire Anakin expects, but it’s muted, a beast defanged. He’s no physical threat, despite being a well-built man, but politically he can make things difficult. “How dare you!”

“We were invited by Duchess Satine,” Obi-Wan repeats, “and until a new leader is elected, you do not have the authority to overrule her last request.”

Almec laughs bitterly. “Elections? You think the city will survive long enough to see an election?”

“I think if Death Watch wants to take power then they’ll have to fight for it,” Jango says angrily. “They can’t expect the people to rise up in support of a cowardly assassination. Satine might not have been popular but she was honorable. Unless you’re planning on bending over and letting Pre Vizsla fuck you, it’s your _job_ to uphold our traditions.”

“Jango,” Obi-Wan lays a hand on his elbow.

Anakin looks to his Master, reaches for him through their bond, and feels only mounting concern.

“Tread carefully, _beroya,”_ Almec warns. He gestures to a contingent of palace guards. “Out of respect for our Duchess, I will give you twelve hours.” With that warning, he turns on his heel and follows the escort that carries Satine’s body away.

“Twelve hours for what?” Anakin asks, stepping closer to Obi-Wan.

“To leave,” Obi-Wan says grimly.

Jango drags his hand over the back of his head. “Or to make a claim.”

Before Anakin can even get to grips with what Jango is implying, Obi-Wan is firmly shaking his head. “No.”

“You don’t think I can kill Pre Vizsla?” Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jango sound so angry when talking to Obi-Wan.

“I think,” Obi-Wan hisses, “that Satine just died because I lost focus. And I _think_ that I am not about to stand by and watch you walk into what is obviously a trap.”

“We need to know who, or what, attacked you,” Anakin cuts in firmly. “Unless Vizsla is secretly Force-sensitive then we’ve got bigger problems on our hands.”

“Agreed,” Obi-Wan nods approvingly. “Someone was clearly working to distract me so they could murder Satine. I should’ve sensed the shot, but-”

Anakin wants to cut in before Obi-Wan can start blaming himself. “Who has that kind of power? It didn’t feel like Dooku -”

“Not his style,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Nor was it Ventress. I am intimately familiar with her particular style of mind manipulation and this was significantly more...”

“Violent,” Anakin supplies when Obi-Wan trails off. “They _hate_ you. Someone on Mandalore wanted you here. They were prepared for you. This was planned, and...” he takes a breath, knowing full well what Obi-Wan’s reaction is going to be. “What if putting a hit out on you was never actually about killing you? What if it was to make sure that somehow you ended up here? And let’s face it, Jango is the only person who ever stood a chance of getting close to you. So. Now you’re here and a day later Satine is dead and you’re attacked by someone who knew exactly how to catch you off guard.”

“I came because Satine called, not because of the hit,” Obi-Wan frowns. Then, a look of horror slowly dawns as he turns to face Jango. “The only thing that the hit has changed is that you’re here with me.”

“What are you saying?” Jango demands, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. He knows, Anakin can tell, but he needs to hear it. Needs to hear someone put into words just how badly they’ve been played.

“I mean the hit wasn’t about killing or capturing Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, sparing Obi-Wan the pain of having to be the one to say it. “It was about you. About luring you out of hiding. Obi-Wan’s not the target; he’s the bait.”


	29. Chapter 29

After a lifetime of hero-worship, Boba has come to realize that his dad is, in fact, really kriffing stupid.

Not about most things; he’s probably the smartest person in the galaxy about _most_ things, but he’s _so_ stupid about the big things that it kinda tips everything else out of balance.

Boba’s not been idle these past few months. Now that everyone on the Negotiator knows who - and what - he is, he basically has unrestricted access to the entire ship, so long as he’s smart about it. Cody and the Captains will kick him out of restricted places if he’s caught, so he waits until they’re busy before getting into the really secret stuff and only gets caught the once. That’s right after Jabiim, his dad crying whenever he thinks he’s alone and Cody wandering the decks with cold, dead eyes. He catches Boba in the data servers, accepts his lie of ‘I wanna know how it works’ and tells him not to do it again. He doesn’t tell dad.

Of all the things he’s uncovered - and eavesdropped on - this is one thing he’s still having trouble processing. It’s easier to see in the shinies, clones years younger than Boba but twice his size. They’re curious about the bounty hunter in their midst. And some of them are scared shitless by him. It’s why Boba gets away with so much. Half of them are scared he’ll run and tell dad on them, the other half are scared that if _they_ tell on Boba, Boba will get punished. It doesn’t take long to understand that his idea of punishment is wildly different from theirs. It’s why even Cody protects him, and it makes Boba angry. Angry with them for thinking his dad is anything less than perfect, and with his dad for whatever he did to make them think that.

But with the adults all occupied nearly _all_ the time, his dad absent, first on Jabiim and then to his grief, Boba has a lot of time to get shit done. He’s small enough to climb into vents, smart enough to clone Anakin’s access chip and devious enough to know that so long as he sets something on fire every few days, no one will really question him if he does get caught. He is only twelve, after all. What harm can a twelve-year-old really do?

Obi-Wan gets a knowing look in his eyes the few times Boba gets to see him, but that’s probably because Anakin has a record of pyrotechnics Boba can only dream of.

Obi-Wan is, in fact, the problem. Or a big part of the problem. Boba’s not dumb: he knows his dad is digging himself in _deep_ shit and that he’s doing it because of Obi-Wan. Or at least because of his influence.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Boba likes Obi-Wan. He doesn’t understand him, but he’s funny and kind and he can crush people with his brain so like... what’s _not_ to like?

The problem is all the stuff that comes with him. It’s weird enough to go from being just him and dad to him, dad, and a crazy Jetii step-dad, to having a brother in Anakin and is Ahsoka technically his niece or... and then there are the clones. Ten years of ‘they’re not people’ and surprise, they’re actually people. Brothers. Who are younger but not. Who are his family, but not. Who...

Yeah. It’s weird. And there’s too much going on to really find the time to get any of it straight, especially when half his new family keeps nearly dying and/or getting kidnapped and tortured. Boba is almost as good at fixing shit as he is blowing it up, but even he can’t work miracles in the middle of a war.

And so, following his dad’s primary tenant of ‘don’t complicate uncomplicated shit’, Boba reaches one very simple conclusion:

In order to fix his new family, they need to end the war.

And in order to do that, he needs to recruit the one group of people everyone likes to say are the baddest of the bad and the toughest of the tough.

And if he’s going to do _that_ , he’s going to have to steal a shuttle and fly down to Mandalore himself.

* * *

“Did you not listen to a word Anakin just said?” Obi-Wan has shed all outer layers of softness, pain, and grief locked away behind calm, steely eyes and that flickering flame of authority and power that Jango loves, for all it frustrates him. The best way to meet him now, in this mood, is with his own softness. With matching calm and rational, cohesive thought.

Which is why he turns around and says, “I’m _going_ to kill him. You can’t stop me.” Very calm. Exceedingly rational.

“You know this is totally a trap, right?” Anakin pushes, sending a side-eye to the group of palace officials who are looking pointedly in their direction. Their privacy won't last much longer. “Like, one hundred percent a trap.”

They’re both overestimating his importance if they think that someone went to all the trouble of putting a hit out on the most famous military face of the war just to lure Jango out of hiding. It’s a stretch he refuses to make. Until that damned holo leaked, no one even knew he and Obi-Wan had a history, not outside of the Order.

And why even bother? Jango is retired. He’s renounced his claim to his _buir’s_ title. Bringing him back to Mandalore only makes things _harder_ for Death Watch to take control, not easier.

“If Vizsla wants a fight-” he snarls.

“It wasn’t Vizsla who killed Satine!” There’s an aching sense of deja vu at play here. A different argument, yes, but he’s stood in these halls and had more than one screaming match with his _riduur_. The last time, Jinn stepped in. This time all they have is Anakin.

“If Death Watch has allied themselves with a Sith...” Anakin trails off and shakes his head uneasily. “You think they’ve lost count?” he asks Obi-Wan, who startles, some of his anger fading.

“What?”

“Well Dooku has a Master, right? And he’s Ventress’s Master. So that’s the Rule of Two already fucked. Maybe this is another apprentice?”

Obi-Wan shudders. “As horrifying as that thought is, it might almost beat the alternative.”

“Which is?” Jango demands.

“That the Sith Master is here, on Mandalore,” Obi-Wan says grimly. “Either way, you understand why you can’t challenge Vizsla directly?”

Jango crosses his arms. “No. Actually, I don’t. These are _my_ people. Do you really think I am going to let scum like that take power? What happened to looking at the bigger picture?”

He can’t understand Obi-Wan’s reluctance. He’s Mister kriffing Strategy. He has to know that leaving Mandalore to Death Watch is only going to make the war worse for everyone.

“I am,” he replies cooly. “And that means addressing all the players on the table. Someone hit me with the psychic equivalent of an ion blast just to distract me long enough for them to kill Satine. Do you seriously think Vizsla is going to meet you in honorable combat?”

“He’d be foolish not to,” Jango snaps. “Satine's pacifism means shit; the Mando'ade won't accept a coward.”

Obi-Wan reaches for him. “Jango, you’ve not been here for nearly twenty years. You don’t know _how_ people will react.”

The words hit hard, striking at the dark part of his soul that he still holds so tightly to his chest. It’s the part he warned Anakin against unleashing and he feels twice the hypocrite as the steady cage of his heart cracks open and lets that poison see the light of day. “And whose fault is that?” he demands.

Obi-Wan has spent decades building defenses against the careless words so many hurl in his direction. He’s learned how to hide the pain of them from Jinn, from Anakin, from any number of people he encountered on his missions, and Jango is ashamed to say he’s learned how to hide it from him too.

Nothing cracks the surface of that ice, not even a blow aimed directly at his heart. For some reason, that only makes Jango angrier. Who is he - _what_ is he - that his husband is so well versed at hiding his pain from him?

It’s a far cry from the vulnerability he let Jango shelter only hours earlier. That perfect Jetii detachment.

“Hey,” Anakin says uneasily, visibly torn between coming to Obi-Wan’s defense and staying out of the personal aspect of the argument. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says calmly.

“I turned my back on my people _for you_ ,” Jango snarls. “None of this should ever have been allowed to happen!”

He waits for Obi-Wan to protest, to remind him that he never once asked Jango to do anything.

Instead, he goes for the jugular.

“Tell yourself that if you must.” His voice is no less deadly for its softness. “But you and I both know why you ran from it. It’s why you run from everything; from me, from your responsibilities to your people, from the children born in your image-”

Jango takes a furious step forward. Obi-Wan doesn’t retreat. “Don’t-”

“I don’t blame you for it,” Obi-Wan continues, “Force knows I have no grounds to judge you. But if you insist on being a stubborn fool, please do us both the courtesy of owning your part in it.”

Jango feels himself snarl. “My part? I thought it was all my fault? That’s usually how it goes between us, isn’t it? Poor, blameless Obi-Wan and his reckless Mando’ad beast.”

He chooses his words very carefully, needing to see _something_ make an impact behind those infuriatingly placid eyes. The hit strikes; Obi-Wan’s lips thin colorlessly. “Vizsla and Death Watch have help from a Sith. They will not allow you victory.”

“I’ve killed my share of Jetii,” Jango reminds him. “How is a Sith any different?”

“You’re talking to the only person in a thousand years to kill one.” Anakin’s voice is almost as heated as Jango’s. If forced to pick sides, he’s always going to choose Obi-Wan. “We know what we’re talking about.”

Maybe they do. Or maybe they are bound by the same bureaucratic bullshit that binds them helplessly into war in the first place. “Didn’t do so well against Ventress, did you?”

He expects the hit from Anakin. The boy’s temper is too volatile for Jango’s taunt to go unanswered. He takes it, welcomes it.

He didn’t _mean_ it.

Obi-Wan knows he didn’t mean it. That’s what makes it worse.

A metal fist slams into the side of his bucket and sends him sprawling. It’s the same hand that hauls him back to his feet, sets him up, draws back for a second hit-

“Enough,” Obi-Wan stops its impact with an order that rings with command. Anakin doesn’t hesitate to follow it. “We don’t have time to waste arguing amongst ourselves. Death Watch will not wait long before capitalizing on the chaos Satine’s murder is creating. I must speak with the Council and inform them of the situation. Our position here is now exceedingly precarious.”

“Then maybe you should leave,” Jango says the words in anger, but when he thinks about it, that’s really the only solution. If Anakin is right and Obi-Wan has been used as bait, then Jango needs to be sure he’s protected and kept out of the fight that’s looming on the horizon.

Besides, Obi-Wan has to admit that their presence as a Republic force will be taken as provocation should Death Watch take power. So the only way to protect both Mandalore and the men is for Jango to rip Vizsla’s spine out.

He says as much and watches Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow in annoyance.

“You know what?” Anakin throws his hands in the air. “I’m going to check in with Ahsoka and see what evidence she’s found. You-” he jabs his finger at Jango, who snarls on principle, “check in with Cody and Rex. Get everyone back to the palace, we’ll set up a FOB here. And as for you-” Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something only to be cut off with a glare that can cut durasteel. “You’re still on limited duties. You’re gonna sit down and wait for Kix to check you over, and if - _if_ \- he doesn’t drag your ass back to medical, you can advise.”

“You do know I outrank you?”

Anakin beams at him, menacing and bright. “Not until you’re cleared by medical you’re not. Now sit down before you fall down.”

They both seem to expect Obi-Wan to argue, but his expression melts to something pensive and worried before he nods.

“I need to speak to the Council,” he repeats, “but I promise I will do so from a seated position.” There’s a thin vein of sarcasm to his tone, but Anakin seems happy enough to take it.

“I’ll be back soon. Stay _here_. And Fett?” Jango grunts, already knowing what’s coming. “Talk to him like that again and I break your kriffing face, we clear?”

“It’s fine, Anakin,” Obi-Wan comes, once again, to Jango’s defense. “This is hardly our first argument.” He’s not wrong, but the weariness that settles over his shoulders sparks a pang of regret.

“Go,” Jango nods. He’ll hold his tongue for now.

Anakin gives them both cool once overs before turning and heading over to join the palace guards. Jango reaches for his comlink, the abrupt drain of anger leaving him feeling shaky and sick. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before patching through to Cody.

If anything, the good Commander will be on Jango’s side.

And if he’s going to find a way out of this mess without breaking both his and Obi-Wan’s hearts, he’s going to need all the help he can get.


	30. Chapter 30

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that Rex has just walked into a situation that redefines the term clusterfuck.

It starts when palace security refuses to allow them inside.

“We’re here with General Kenobi,” he says incredulously. “Helping you guys out?" Nothing. Not even a twitch. "Your Duchess invited us?”

The burly guard Captain doesn’t budge. “The palace is on complete lockdown. Suspected terrorist attack.” Behind Rex, Torrent Company’s finest tense, ready for action.

“All the more reason to let us in,” Rex growls, “since we’re here investigating those attacks.”

“I have my orders.”

Mandalorians are kriffing infuriating. Good to know it’s not just Jango and Bo Katan.

“Okay, listen here you-” he takes a step forward, trying to find the middle ground between punching this dick in the head and starting a minor diplomatic incident. This is Cody’s area of expertise, not his.

“Captain.” Oh, thank fuck... Speak, and he shall appear... The tension eases from Rex’s shoulders as his brother jogs down the palace steps to join them. Cody puts himself between Rex and the guard, his stance non-confrontational. “I’ll take it from here.”

The guard bristles at the calm dismissal. “I have orders that no one is to enter.” He’s taller than Cody and stupid enough to think that will intimidate him.

Poor bastard is going to wish Rex’d just punched him.

That non-confrontational stance shifts to something a whole lot more threatening. “Captain, either you let my men pass or the next person talking to you will be the High General. Given recent events, I can’t imagine he’ll be in a better mood than I am.”

If Cody’s going straight to using Obi-Wan as a threat then things must be bad. For all that there’s a suspected terrorist attack, there’s none of the destruction and chaos there was at the Academy or any of the previous targets. The palace is swarming with security and officials, but there’s no sign of anyone injured. Maybe they caught the attacker in the act?

Or maybe not. The Captain becomes subdued, before nodding and stepping aside. Rex holds his tongue as they pass and he’s proud of his boys when they do the same.

“Thanks,” he says to Cody, falling in line with his brother’s sure strides.

“The situation’s escalated,” Cody informs them, leading them through the palace, nodding at certain guards as they pass.

“Captain Cheerful said there had been another attack,” Rex nods. “Casualties?”

“Just the one. It wasn’t an attack, it was an assassination.” He lowers his voice. “Duchess Satine is dead.”

Several of the men curse quietly under their breath. Rex doesn’t reprimand them. That certainly explains the increased security. Too bad they’d not been stationed _before_ the Duchess was murdered.

“How’s the General?” Poor Obi-Wan. They were friends, right? How much of a beating is the galaxy set on giving their General?

“I don’t know,” Cody says. The flatter his voice, the more worried he is; right now you could take kriffing measurements off it. “Skywalker and Ahsoka are working with palace investigators to identify the shooter but we’re fairly confident they’re with Death Watch.”

“About that,” Rex unclips the saber given to him by Bo Katan. “I think things just got a little more complicated.”

* * *

“Oh,” Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide as Rex hands the saber over to Jango. Cody and Anakin join them in a small circle in a more secluded corner of the throne room, all of them pressed close and curious. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear?” Anakin echoes? “Is that an ‘ _oh dear I’ve run out of my favorite tea_ ’ oh dear, or an ‘ _oh dear we’re all about to die horribly_ ’ oh dear?” Over a decade at Obi-Wan’s side and the fact that Anakin still doesn’t know the difference is alarming.

“Did she say anything?” Jango asks, turning the hilt of the saber over in his palm and running a reverent thumb along it’s smooth, dark edges.

“She said not to fight,” Rex relays. “That you were even now, and not to fight.”

“Why does she even have a lightsaber?” Anakin asks. “She’s not a Jedi, right? Unless... is _she_ the one who attacked you?”

“She was the other side of the city when the Duchess was killed,” Rex shakes his head, then freezes when the implications of Anakin’s words sink in. “Wait, they attacked you too?”

“Something,” Obi-Wan says, touching his forehead and grimacing, “or someone, distracted me before Satine was shot. We fear they might be a Sith.”

“A Sith working with Death Watch and the Duchess’s sister just happens to give you a lightsaber?” Anakin’s confusion speaks for all of them.

Jango turns to Obi-Wan. “You really think she’d turn on Satine?”

Obi-Wan rubs a tired hand over his jaw. “It’s possible. She was certainly never a pacifist. But, if that is what I am assuming it is, then she must’ve gotten it from Vizsla. Maybe she’s not with Death Watch and this is her way of trying to help?”

Anakin’s frown etches deep. “What you think it is? It’s a lightsaber, isn’t it?”

Jango takes a step away, enough to put some space between them all, and ignites the blade.

Instead of the luminous green or blue Rex would know anywhere, or even the rarer purple and yellow, this blade is unlike anything he’s seen before. It’s not red like Dooku and Ventress’s sabers, but black. Instead of a bright, humming glow, this blade seems to suck the light out of the space around it, a black void that buzzes with energy.

“The darksaber,” Obi-Wan tells them. “It was created by clan Vizsla when the first of their kind was inducted into the Jedi Order, and stolen from the Temple during the fall of the Old Republic.”

“So old,” Anakin blinks.

“Very old,” Obi-Wan agrees. He watches Jango test the weight of it, the weapon elegant and deadly in his hands. “For centuries it symbolized the unification of Mandalore, wielded by the Mand’alor.”

“Tor Vizsla killed my father with it,” Jango says quietly. “Fitting that I kill his son with it in return.”

Obi-Wan lets out a bark of furious laughter. “Why would Bo Katan steal the darksaber from Pre and give it to you?”

“Maybe because she knows no one else has a strong a claim against him?”

“Then why tell you not to fight?”

Jango deactivates the saber and clips it to his utility belt. “Because she’s insane?”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Jango,” Obi-Wan says warily. He tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robes, something Rex has noticed he tends to do when he’s feeling most off balance.

“Then give me another option,” Jango pleads. “Give me another way out of this, because right now it’s either I challenge him, he challenges me, or people die.”

“Just give me some time,” Obi-Wan pleads. “Don’t do anything foolish. We will find the shooter and bring them to justice, and if they have so much as a shoe size in common with any of Death Watch’s members we can bring them all up on charges of treason.”

“I don’t know how much time we have, sir,” Cody says warily. “I’ve been out on the streets; things are getting pretty heated. The people want answers.”

A low chime draws all their attention. Jango raises his wrist and taps his communicator. There’s no projected holo, but whatever the message, it settles a look of stubborn determination on his face. “You’ve got until dawn tomorrow,” he says grimly.

“Vizsla?” Obi-Wan asks, his expression blank.

“He’s issued the Challenge.”

“That sounds serious,” Anakin frowns worriedly.

“That’s because it is,” Obi-Wan says, tucking his arms even tighter against himself. “Trial by combat, until one party either yields or is killed.”

That... that's about as serious as it gets. 

“Better get investigating,” Jango says. He taps the message on his wrist, then turns and walks away.

Obi-Wan watches him leave, his eyes bright, then turns to Anakin. “Anything?”

“Ahsoka’s scanning the security footage,” he says, “I’ll go help.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan nods gratefully.

Anakin reaches out and touches his shoulder. “We’ll find out who did this, I swear.” With that promise, he jogs off to find Ahsoka.

“We found nothing at the Academy,” Rex admits, “but maybe it’s worth trying the Duchess’s nephew again?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I’ll speak to Korkie,” he says softly. “Someone will need to tell him about Satine.”

Rex cringes, ashamed. “Yes, sir, of course.”

“I’ll go now. It’s better he finds out sooner rather than later. When I’ve spoken to him, I’ll see if I can’t get anything else out of Almec. He knows something, I’m sure of it.”

“We can speak to the Prime Minister, sir,” Cody offers.

“No, thank you Cody. That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re sure?” Obi-Wan isn’t the only one to look at Cody in surprise. Rex’s jaw practically hits the floor. Cody _never questions_ the General when it comes to things like this.

“I’m certain, Commander,” there’s a hint of reproach in the General’s voice that’s not unwarranted. Since Jango’s arrival, the personal and professional boundaries that form the backbone of the 3rd have become increasingly less rigid. If it’s starting to have an impact on _Cody’s_ behavior then it’s long past the point of control.

If the censor upsets Cody in any way, you’d not know it from looking at him. “Understood, sir,” he says. “Then if I can advise you to order all but essential personnel back to the Negotiator?”

Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully. “Good thinking, Cody.” And just like that, they’re back to normal. Rex and Anakin would likely be circling around each other for days but these two have always been on the same wavelength. “Give the orders. I assume you’re wanting to stay on the surface?”

“It’ll save us both the court-martial if you don’t order me back,” Cody says dryly.

“Indeed. Very well, you will remain on the surface with Anakin and I. Captain, once the challenge begins I will be placing Ahsoka in temporary command, please see to it that she has everything she needs.”

Rex grinds his jaw. “Yes, sir.”

He thinks he does a good job of hiding his anger, at least until Obi-Wan raises an eloquent eyebrow. “You’re unhappy with my order?”

Rex doesn’t waste time asking for permission to speak freely. Obi-Wan has granted it a dozen times over and Rex isn’t above pushing that boundary if it’s for his own good. “I am, sir, yes. I’d be more use to you here.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I disagree.” Obi-Wan’s expression isn’t unkind, but it’s resolute. “Jango is insisting on going ahead with the challenge. I want you to ready the men for a ground assault should he prove successful and Death Watch refuses to surrender.”

“You think they will?” Rex is already running through configurations in his head, taking the details he knows of the city and assimilating that information with troop data.

“It’s possible,” Obi-Wan admits. “If that is the case, Jango will have authority as Mand’alor to request our assistance in subduing a threat to the populace.”

“Then why can’t we be on the ground? We lose at least fifteen minutes if we’re stationed on the Negotiator.”

Obi-Wan’s expression becomes one of deeply etched seriousness. “Because he might lose. As Jango’s _riduur_ , I have the right to witness the fight. Likewise, Anakin can claim a tie to Mandalore as a foundling, though it’s a rather convoluted connection. Under clan law, I am allowed one companion for protection. And forgive me, but if I allow you to stay and send Cody back to the ship I fear he might mutiny.”

“The last time I left you unsupervised, you died,” Cody says flatly. Rex hears the words that are unspoken: the last time Cody left Obi-Wan in Rex’s protection, he failed to do his duty. Which is why it’s a surprise then when Cody adds, “That said, I agree with Captain Rex: he is better equipped to oversee your safety than he is to mobilize a strike should one be necessary. Captain Gregor can begin preparations and I will join him before dawn to oversee final checks.”

Obi-Wan’s blink of surprise says everything that Rex can’t verbalize. “Very well, Commander.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cody nods. “Just...please don’t do anything reckless?”

“I never set out to cause trouble,” Obi-Wan says, chastized. “And I have strict orders from the Council not to repeat the situation. Until an official request for aid is made, I am to observe only.”

“Can you do that, sir?” Rex finds himself asking. “If he fights and it does turn out to be a trap?”

“What are you asking, Rex?” The General’s tone is softer now, kinder; professionalism temporarily put aside in favor of reassurance.

“Can you watch him die?” Cody asks, as direct as ever.

From what Rex understands of the Code, the answer has to be ‘yes’, surely? Attachment and all that. From what he knows of Obi-Wan, from all the Jedi he knows individually, he doesn’t see how it can be anything but a resolute ‘no’.

Instead of giving them a straight answer, Obi-Wan goes full Jedi on them. “I shall follow the will of the Force,” he says serenely.

“You know that’s usually what General Skywalker says before throwing me off a building, right?”

“Anakin does have a stronger connection with the Force than most,” Obi-Wan nods, as though he’s being unreasonable for wanting a little more justification for his surprise airborne assaults than ‘the Force says so’. “Speaking of, I need to speak with him before I visit Korkie- gentlemen, I’ll leave you to your duties. Cody, report in when everyone has evacuated the planet.”

“Yes sir!” Rex and Cody say as one. They wait until Obi-Wan has left the room. Then Rex says, “Okay, what’s going on? You’re willingly leaving his side when shit’s about to go down?”

Cody somehow manages to stand even more stiffly. “I trust you to take care of him.” And it sounds like he means it, too.

“You know I’d die before I let anything happen to him,” Rex says fiercely, “I won’t let you down again. But Cody, come on. You can fool him but you can’t fool me. What are you up to?”

He hears the pained sigh Cody lets out and his worry doubles. “He said the words, Rex.”

“The words?”

“He has a bad feeling about this. Every time he says that, people die.”

That...is actually true. Those infamous words are a deathknell of fate. “So?”

“So he thinks Fett is being set up.”

It takes a second for Rex to catch up to his line of thinking. And then he wants to pinch himself because he _has_ to be dreaming. “You’re going to try and talk Jango out of fighting Vizsla, aren’t you? What the kriff makes you think he’s going to listen to you if he’s not listening to the General?”

Cody’s chuckle is grim. “I don’t plan on asking as politely.”


	31. Chapter 31

Jango sits in the darkness of their room, and waits. He knows Obi-Wan will come looking for him. He knows he will try one last time to change Jango’s mind.

He’s tried calling Boba, tried to speak with his boy before the hour grows too late, but he's only been able to leave a message. He doesn’t worry. Boba is safe. Safe, and no doubt driving one of his brothers round the bend.

As much as he wants to hold his son again, perhaps this is for the best? Why worry him? Obi-Wan is worrying enough for everyone.

The door to their room finally opens, the lights obeying a silent command, and Obi-Wan steps inside, his face drawn and pale. “There you are.” Relief flashes brightly in his eyes and this is how Jango wants to think of him, always; beautiful and safe.

“Hey.” It doesn’t escape him how much has changed since the last time they were alone. He doesn’t forget the words spoken out of anger. It’s not the first time they’ve hurled cold cruelties at each other; he hopes it’s not the last.

Obi-Wan draws tentatively closer. “I’ve been looking for you. Anakin and Ahsoka have found a lead on our shooter, and I’ve uncovered a possible link between Almec and Death Watch. I think he’s been allowing black market goods into the city for a cut of the profits. I have the techs on the Negotiator combing through the files. Once they find something incriminating we can-” He’s earnest, hopeful, and Jango loves him for it.

But he’s too late.

“There’s no time, _n’edee_ ,” he says, trying to be as kind as possible. He doesn’t want to argue with Obi-Wan, not now. “The challenge is in five hours. Even if you found something now, there’s no one to take it to. The Army won’t move against Almec for anyone less than the Mand’alor and Death Watch’s numbers are too great.”

“Then I’ll talk to them,” Obi-Wan says firmly. “I’ll buy us more time.”

The Negotiator, always looking for a peaceful solution. Jango has met his match in Obi-Wan’s gentle spirit, and sadly for Obi-Wan, he’s met his match in the ancient traditions of Mandalore.

“There’s no one to negotiate with, not while a challenge stands unanswered. The ball is set in motion and even you can’t fight gravity.”

“Actually, I can,” Obi-Wan says stubbornly. “Jedi, remember?”

Jango chuckles. “Like I’d ever forget. You know I have to do this. You know this is the only way.”

Desperation draws faint lines around Obi-Wan’s eyes. He reaches for Jango, hands imploring. “There’s always another way.” His fingers are cold, tense, and brittle. If Jango loses this fight, he fears for Obi-Wan’s heart. He’s not foolish enough to think that Jango’s death would break him - he’s survived it once, he’ll survive it again - but it hurts his heart to think that there will be no one to hold him, to love him as only Jango is allowed.

Drawing those cold fingers to his lips, he warms them with tender kisses. “I know what I’m asking of you, _n’edee.”_

“Do you?” He sounds unsure. “What about Boba? Have you thought about him? What losing his father will do to him?”

His son’s beautiful smile fills his mind. Of course he’s thought about Boba. He’s thought about all of them. He knows how it must look, knows that his anger has always burned brighter than anything else, but his and Obi-Wan’s souls match for one very specific reason: love will always be more important to them than hate.

Jango has a lot of hate in his heart, but his love knows no limits. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Obi-Wan, for Boba... for his boys.

“He has you,” Jango says. “He has his brothers.”

Obi-Wan laughs hopelessly. “A tired old Jedi and a group of child soldiers. He needs his _buir_ , Jango. He needs you.”

It’s love, not hate, that rules his mind now. Tugging Obi-Wan closer, he slides his arms around his back and holds him, each second cherished and frozen in his memory, precious crystals to be stored away in the heavily guarded vaults of his mind. “Still so sure I’ll lose?” His voice is lighter now, gently teasing in the hope of easing the lines of worry that have taken up permanent residence between Obi-Wan’s blue eyes.

Obi-Wan curls his hands over Jango’s arms, pressing them both tightly together. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. The Force is screaming at me and I-”

“ _K'uur.”_ He knows better than to dismiss Obi-Wan’s instincts out of hand, but he also knows that there is no exact science to how they manifest. If allowed to, Obi-Wan can lose himself in the anxiety of what’s to come. Jinn always kept a firm hand on it, often too firm, but Jango favors less stringent distractions. “What will be will be. We’ll face it together, _n’edee_ , and if you’re right, if this is a trap, you’ll follow the Code. You’ll put the mission first.”

“What mission?” Obi-Wan says miserably. “Satine is dead. I failed her-”

“ _We_ failed her,” Jango stresses. “You weren’t the only one in that room. And you were a little preoccupied.” He has to raise a hand to run it carefully over the back of Obi-Wan’s head, remembering all too well the terror of holding him, helpless, while he fought off an attack Jango couldn’t even see. If that happens again...

“If you lose, I can’t do anything. The Senate...” The Senate will never mandate a preemptive strike against Mandalore, it would potentially propel every neutral system into the war, most likely to the side of the Separatists. If Mandalore chose to fight, they can engage, but they can’t make the first move.

“Protect the boys,” Jango tells him. “If I lose, that’s all that matters.”

“Tell me what you need,” Obi-Wan whispers, leaning into the palm that Jango strokes across his cheek.

Need? He only needs this. Obi-Wan’s love. His support, reluctantly given though it is. He’ll fight Vizsla regardless, but going into battle with the echo of Obi-Wan’s lips against his own, that counts for more than he can possibly know.

What he wants, though...

“Let me love you?” he pleads. “Let me sleep one more night with you in my arms.”

One _last_ night.

If he loses the fight, nothing will matter.

If he wins it, he becomes Mand’alor. He steps into a role he’s been running from for twenty years. It will give him a place to mount the battle for his echoes, a place to build them a home and a shelter... and it will be the end of his relationship with Obi-Wan.

A Jedi can love a bounty hunter, he can love a man like Jango Fett. He can’t love the Mand’alore. Not and keep his position on the Council. Not and lead the 3rd Systems Army. A conflict of interest is the least he’d be accused of. Obi-Wan promised him a future after the war, but he can’t promise Jango this.

And Jango can’t ask it of him.

He waits for Obi-Wan’s answer and receives only a bruising kiss, hands reaching for the fastenings of his _beskar’gam_ , competent and steady. This won’t be their first last night together, nor their second. He doubts they’ll get a forth, but he can hope. He can pray. And until then, he can commit every second to memory.

They only separate for Jango to peel himself out of the final layers of his armor, then Obi-Wan’s hands are wandering with the same desperation across Jango’s chest and arms. Obi-Wan’s clothes are less fiddly, but kriffing hells, there are so many layers. The long band of his sash tangles around their feet, quickly joined by the sandy-colored tunic. It was a _lot_ easier to get him undressed when he was a padawan, the soft layers no less numerous but significantly more manageable than the stiff under tunic and coarse, high necked shirt.

The bruise Jango left on his throat has long since faded and he’s struck with the need to bite a fresh one into pale skin. Obi-Wan’s strong fingers curl in Jango’s short hair, guiding him down to press tender kisses down his jaw. He always knows what Jango wants and always meets him halfway.

He’s also a lot more graceful about guiding them to the bed, at least until the backs of his knees hit the mattress, and then Jango is baring them both down, legs tangled, fingers laced tightly together. His skin tastes like salt, and like the sweet petals he’d thrown in their bath. They’ve made love in the aftermath of battle; bloody and bruised and burning with adrenaline, and they’ve made love against the silky sheets of a royal palace. Each time Jango has fallen deeper in love with him, with the sounds he makes and the way their bodies move together. He doesn’t think he can fall any further, is certain he’s reached the core of his feelings, white-hot and strong enough to power whole planets.

Then Obi-Wan calls his name, runs fingers that prickle with power and energy down Jango’s chest, and he remembers how little power he has.

He’s never stood a chance, not really. From the moment he tripped over his discarded hate and fell into the depths of Obi-Wan’s kind, loving eyes, he’s been lost. Helpless to resist the hook that sinks deep into his heart and tugs with every soft smile and furious fight. He’ll never escape Obi-Wan’s orbit and he hates that there was once a time when he _wanted_ to.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, kair’ta. Ner kair’ta, ner mesh’la kair’ta.”_

He gets a final bite to Obi-Wan’s throat, his kiss pressed dark into bare skin, then finds himself flat on his back, Obi-Wan pushing him down from above. He presses his hand over Jango’s heart and leans down to touch their foreheads together. “ _Kandosii sa kyr'am ast,”_ he whispers, fierce and intent, his eyes unblinking and bright, as intense as the pale blue glow of hottest flames. “ _Troan teroch jetiise a'den, Duraan vi at ara'nov. Ka'rta tor.”_

Jango curls his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and finishes the ancient verse. “ _Kote.”_

 _“Da, aliit,”_ he corrects. Not glory, but family.

He taught the Ka’rta tor to the boys, to Cody and his vode, back on Kamino. He’s taught them a lot of old war songs. With some amendments, naturally, something to make things a little more Republic friendly. Most are promises of vengeance, rallies made by brothers against their enemies. This one speaks only of justice, of a Jedi’s wrath, and a warrior as ruthless as Death itself. It’s the final order given to a soldier before battle, one Jango will take gladly.

Rolling Obi-Wan back beneath him, he presses a kiss to each corner of his lips. “ _Te racin ka'ra juaan, cuun kar'taylir darasuum.”_

His next kiss comes away wet. Looking up, there are lines of tears cutting across both of Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “Don’t lose,” he begs. “Swear to me you won’t lose.”

Touching their foreheads together once more, Jango closes his eyes. “I won’t lose.”

“Swear it,” Obi-Wan says fiercely.

He wants Jango’s word. He wants his vow, solemn and unbreakable. “I swear it,” he says. “ _Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it._ Truth, honor, vision. It is sworn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buir - father  
> K'uur - hush  
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you  
> Ner kair’ta, ner mesh’la kair’ta - my desperate heart, my beautiful, desperate heart  
> Kandosii sa kyr'am ast - as ruthless as Death itself  
> Troan teroch jetiise a'den, Duraan vi at ara'nov. Ka'rta tor - the pitiless face of the Jedi's wrath, let us look down on all who are before us. One heart of justice  
> Kote - glory  
> Aliit - family  
> Te racin ka'ra juaan, cuun kar'taylir darasuum - the stars pale beside our love


	32. Chapter 32

Two hours before the sun rises over the city, Jango opens his eyes and stares into a face more beloved than the stars. He smiles, thanking every scrap of divine providence that has conspired together to give him this; one last look at the man he loves. He moves to brush his fingers across Obi-Wan’s soft, unsmiling mouth and finds himself firmly handcuffed to the headboard.

“Not that I’m objecting,” he says warily, his pulse picking up in a way that has nothing to do with his compromised state, “but I think we’re a bit pushed for time.”

Obi-Wan leans in and kisses him softly, his fingers light on Jango’s jaw. Then he rolls off the bed, stands, and _why is he dressed_? They were both very much _not_ dressed the last Jango can remember.

“Obi-Wan?” He tugs on his wrist: no give. They’re _his_ cuffs. “Obi-Wan, what are you doing?”

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Obi-Wan tugs on his boots. “Consider this payback for kidnapping me,” he says, flashing Jango a hint of a smile.

No. No, no, no...

“They won’t accept it!” he shouts, pulling wildly at the restraints. The headboard jerks, but doesn’t give. “They won’t let you fight! You’re a _Jedi._ ”

“By your laws, they must,” Obi-Wan says reasonably. He’s right, of course, he’s right. Family comes before everything. Obi-Wan is Jango’s _riduur_. He is Mando’ad in every way that counts. “The Sith are here, darling. Putting aside any personal desire I have not to lose you the same way I lost Qui-Gon, it is my duty as a Jedi to remove their kind from existence.”

He sounds so calm, so rational, and all Jango can think is that he’s lost his kriffing mind. He’s in _no_ shape to fight anyone right now.

“I swore to you I’d not lose,” he snarls, still fighting to free himself. “I swore an _oath!_ On my honor! You think that means nothing?”

Obi-Wan moves to sit closer to the headboard, reaching out to brush Jango’s cheek. Jango flinches back, furious, and hates him for the pain that flashes in his eyes.

He has no kriffing _right_.

Obi-Wan sets both hands in his lap. “You did. The only way you can keep your word is to challenge Vizsla _after_ I’ve dealt with the Sith.”

“You don’t know a Sith is going to be there!”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says. “I can feel it, feel their hate. I wore that mask for so long and...” he withdraws into himself and shudders. “I can feel their evil under my skin, Jango, voices whispering to me in the dark.” The haunted horror that flashes in his eyes every time he speaks of what Ventress did to him resurfaces, bringing with it the true depths of Jango’s miscalculation.

“ _Cyare_ ,” he has to be careful now, so careful. One wrong word and he’s going to lose far more than he can afford. “ _Cyare_ , that’s _trauma_ talking, okay? It’s not... we shouldn’t have pushed you into this. The Council shouldn’t have sent you here.” Decades of learning how to carefully hide away his pain have left them all willfully ignorant to the severity of Obi-Wan’s accumulated hurts. It’s been less than two weeks since his rescue, seven days of which he’s spent unconscious in bacta. How have they been so negligent, so foolish...

Because they need him. Jango’s need for Obi-Wan is no less fierce and desperate than the Republic’s. They need the Negotiator, they need his tactical brilliance, and so they throw him time and again between the Republic and its problems.

“I’m alright, darling, really,” Obi-Wan promises, and the truly terrifying thing is that he believes it. He stands, reaches out for Jango again, and Jango doesn’t flinch this time, doesn’t want to hurt him...

“Don’t do this,” he begs. “Please don’t do this.”

“I _am_ sorry, _an’ee_. Please, try not to hate me?” Jango pulls again at the cuffs, screaming his desperate terror in denial. Obi-Wan’s expression twists in misery before settling into something dreadfully blank. “Sleep, my love,” he whispers.

And Jango sleeps.

* * *

An hour before the sun rises over the city, Rex presses the chime on Obi-Wan and Jango’s door, straightens his back, and tries to pretend he’s not about to vibrate out of his skin. It feels like the moment before his first battle, before experience and adrenaline and what’s probably an unhealthy degree of recklessness takes over and he feels only young and uncertain, and like something terrible is waiting just around the corner.

When the door slides open, only Obi-Wan comes to greet him, fully swaddled in his heavy brown robe, the hood pulled over his head. Rex knows him well enough by now to keep his greeting to a minimum, snapping to attention and uttering only a “Morning, General.” Obi-Wan gives him a ghost of a smile and a small nod. Unlike Anakin, he gets quieter, not louder, the more unsettled he is.

When Jango fails to join them, Obi-Wan lets out a heavy sigh and tucks his hands into the long sleeves of his robes. “It’s just us, Captain,” he says. Taking that to mean Jango has already left, Rex, his helmet under his arm, steps into line beside him.

“Very good, sir.”

Side by side, they walk the long halls of the palace before stepping out onto the still-dark streets of Sundari. The stark contrast between the echoing, lofty halls and the crowded streets sets Rex’s teeth on edge. He knows enough Manda’o to know that the chants shouted around them are not calls for rationality and temperance. After nearly two decades of peace, Mandalore is remembering its taste for blood. They all know the world is about to change again. Whether Fett or Vizsla, rule of the system is going to revert to the old ways, all that stands to be decided is how much blood will be shed in the aftermath.

Do they remember Jango’s ruthlessness? Do they remember the man who tore six Jedi apart with his bare hands, or do they remember only his failure? Do they see Vizsla as the liberating hero, or as the spawn of treachery and betrayal? Do any of them even care that Satine is dead?

Rex doesn’t know. All he does know is that whatever Cody’s going to do, he needs to do it quickly.

* * *

On the far side of the city, Anakin watches an army circle the defensive perimeter. Death Watch, in numbers far greater than anyone has anticipated. One way or another Sundari will fight today.

 _“How many?_ ” Ahsoka asks through their comm. She’s back on the Negotiator, ready and waiting to come to their aid the second the strike is called in.

But with what looks to be close to a hundred thousand fighters all congregating around the city and who knows how many Death Watch sympathizers in Sundari, it won’t matter that they have greater numbers.

The fight will be a bloodbath, with far too many civilian casualties.

Pre Vizsla might be their leader, but either he wins the fight and becomes Mand’alor, or he dies a martyr and his followers rise up in violence.

“Too many,” Anakin says grimly. “Brief Cody and standby.”

 _“Cody’s not here,”_ Ahsoka replies. _“I thought he was with Master Obi-Wan still.”_

Rex is with Obi-Wan. Cody is supposed to be back on the ship by now.

Unless... Force Jango’s insanity really is kriffing genetic.

He’s going to take Fett’s armor and fight in his place. He’s going to risk dying because his unwavering devotion to Obi-Wan tells him that he is a replaceable part when stacked against the love of his General’s life.

How the _hell_ did Obi-Wan land himself with a messier personal life than Anakin, his secret wife, and his hidden murder spree?

“Be ready,” he tells Ahsoka, then ends the call.

Jumping back into his speeder, he tries comming Rex.

If anyone can talk Cody round, it’s going to be him.

* * *

Jango wakes up to the taste of blood and the sight of Cody’s palm drawing back for a second hit. He draws back, pulling his hands up to defend himself; they’re no longer cuffed to the bed.

 _“What did you do?”_ Cody snarls, the force of his hit making Jango’s ears ring.

Jango doesn’t bother to defend himself, just rolls sideways off the edge of the bed, hits the ground hard with his knees, and stumbles towards the neatly folded stack of his clothes. “Where is he?” he asks, his tongue feeling heavy and too big for his mouth.

“I asked you!” Cody shouts. “What did you do?”

“What time is it?” Jango shoves one leg into the tight black body glove, then the other. “Why aren’t you on the ship?”

“I came to take your kriffing place,” Cody glares, grabbing Jango’s _beskar’gam_ and throwing his pauldrons at him. “Since you’re too damn stubborn to know when you’re in over your head.”

Apparently no one has any fucking faith in him these days. When he stops being so terrified, he’s going to be furious.

“Too fucking late, kid! _What time is it?”_ Please...please don’t let him be too late. _Please_...

“The challenge is in twenty minutes. Obi-Wan said you’d already left; I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

One boot. Two. His blaster, and they run together for the door.

“Rex is with him?” Cody nods. “Call him. Tell him not to let Obi-Wan out of his sight.”

Cody’s on the coms before Jango has even finished speaking, Rex’s answers going directly to his earpiece. “He’s inside the arena,” Cody relays grimly. “They’ve not let Rex in. He’s trying to find a way past security.” He turns to Jango, sounding young and unsure for the first time in so many years. “Did he... did he _plan_ this?”

Did he play them? Did he do what he always does and put the safety of others above his own?

He’s not the GAR’s most highly sought after tactical advisor for nothing. He knows the value and the moves of every piece and will juggle them accordingly if there’s a way to protect each asset and still observe the bigger picture.

“I don’t know.” And that’s the truth. Obi-Wan is capable of this kind of deception, yes, but Jango can’t escape that haunted look in his eyes. He’s compromised, emotionally, mentally, and physically, and instead of doing their fucking jobs and taking those vulnerabilities into consideration...

“He can beat Vizsla,” Cody says, forced confidence a focus for them both as they sprint through the halls of the palace.

“If we were only dealing with Vizsla I’d be the one fighting,” Jango says grimly.

Cody follows without further prompting. “The Sith. He’s killed one before.”

When he was ten years younger, fighting fit and burdened only with the responsibility of pleasing one man. The years haven’t been kind to Obi-Wan, and while technically he might be a better fighter now than he was then, he’s exhausted, weak, and traumatized by weeks of unrelenting torture.

He’s a brilliant fighter, the best Jango has ever seen, but Sith are the kriffing monsters in the dark. If they get into his head again, if they leave him vulnerable...

The streets are quiet as they exit the palace, most of the city now crowded around the arena, watching on huge screens as Almec recites the ancient treatise. They have only minutes, and once the fight begins it’s impossible to interfere, not unless they’re already inside.

“Where’s Anakin?” Jango demands. If there is a Sith, they need all the help they can get. Obi-Wan might be the most accomplished fighter Jango knows, but Anakin has enough raw power in his little finger to level the playing field.

“On his way.”

Not close enough to stop this.

Obi-Wan’s played it well, separating himself from the key figures who might be able to hold him back. Cody and Rex might be bound by their obedience to his orders, but Anakin and Jango are both prepared to beat the shit out of him if that’s the only way to stop him from throwing himself on his kriffing saber.

There’s no one Jango can call on for help. He’s burned all his bridges, turned so far away from his home and his people that the only way for him to win any support is to win a fight he’s been locked out of.

“Move!” He shouts, switching between Mando’a and Basic as they shove their way through jostling bodies, closing the space between them and the arena’s entrance by agonizingly slow degrees.

The first rays of the rising sun spill blood-red across the sky and Jango’s heart aches with the force of its pounding. Thorns of panic sink into his throat as he catches a glimpse of one of the giant screens.

With Cody at his side, Jango finally pushes through to the front of the crowd, his palms hitting the red wall of energy that keeps spectators and arena firmly separated.

Waiting at the far end of the ancient space, Pre Vizsla stands side by side with Bo Katan. Besides her, a towering, cloaked figure stands a silent sentry. And there, waiting to fight, his black cloak billowing, caught in the morning breeze, a tattooed and scarred Zebrack waits, half-man, half-machine, and radiating raw, blood-curdling hatred. His yellow eyes burn bright and menacing and his sharp teeth flash in a wide rictus of a smile. In his hand, he holds the hilt of a double-ended lightsaber.

Obi-Wan was right.

Vizsla is working with the Sith.

“No, no, no, no... Rex, tell me you’ve found him!” Cody’s frantic shout into the coms freezes Jango to the spot.

“You know him?” He looks desperately around, trying to see another way inside, another way _past_ the red barrier.

It’s too late. The ancient gong calls. There’s no stopping the fight now.

“He’s in the General’s file,” Cody says breathlessly. “Darth Maul. The Sith who killed Master Jinn. The Sith _he_ cut in half.”

And there is Obi-Wan, stepping out to hateful jeers, his gaze fixed firmly on his old enemy.

The final puzzle piece snaps into place.

Obi-Wan isn’t the bait.

Jango is.


	33. Chapter 33

Anakin has watched recordings of the fight on Theed a thousand times. He knows every step of it, every beat of the three combatant’s hearts, every dynamic explosion of power within the Force. He used to swear, with all the arrogant folly of youth, that if _he’d_ been the one fighting at Master Qui-Gon’s side, he would’ve been faster than Obi-Wan. He would’ve saved Qui-Gon. He would’ve... so many things.

And now he stands on the other side of a red wall of energy, trapped as Obi-Wan was trapped, watching, as Obi-Wan watched, terror and rage beating against the cage of his chest.

A thousand viewings of that fateful fight. A thousand repeats of Obi-Wan Kenobi slicing the Zabrak in two. A thousand births of the Sith Killer.

And he’s never once, not in a hundred and more fights since, seen Obi-Wan _fight_ the way he fights Maul now.

Maul fights like Anakin: furious strength and explosions of kinetic energy. He’s powerful, far stronger than his human opponent, fast, and his hatred is spread so thick and so vast that Anakin can feel it even from a distance. Obi-Wan must be choking on it, must be drowning under all that anger and rage.

But he never falters. Not once.

Maul fights like Anakin. Pound for pound, he has every advantage; he’s taller, heavier and his reach is longer, especially with that double-sided blade.

He’s more powerful in the Force, too, the Dark Side warping everything around it. Even to Anakin, who never has to _try_ to feel its power, finds himself having to focus more intently just to connect to the familiar heartbeat of life that sings in his ears.

As a teenager, Anakin never understood, never appreciated Obi-Wan’s brilliance for what it truly is. Power was all he could see, all he believed mattered. Power means strength and strength means never having to submit, never having to yield. Obi-Wan, so quiet, so serene, so _passive_ and weak; always standing in someone else’s shadow... he could never come close to achieving the things Anakin finds so breathlessly _easy_.

He’s more powerful in _every_ way, and yet Obi-Wan always ends up beating him when it counts.

And there’s a reason why Anakin has never truly won a fight against his Master.

Why the only person he’s _ever_ seen Obi-Wan lose a duel to is Dooku.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be as powerful as his opponents. He doesn’t have to be as strong or as fast.

And though he _is_ all of those things, even now, even weak and wounded, it doesn’t matter that he’s outmatched.

Not now. Not against Maul.

Obi-Wan is smarter. His technique is flawless. And he can take more of a beating than anyone Anakin has ever met.

And so Anakin watches, his hands pressed against the red wall of energy as fifty thousand Mandalorians chant and scream around him. He watches Maul dominate the fight. Watches Obi-Wan let himself be pushed back, always defending, rarely getting a chance to attack. Watches him take hits. Watches him spill blood on the dusty ground of the ancient arena.

And he _knows_ Obi-Wan is going to win. He can feel it in the static air and in the calm certainty that flows from Obi-Wan’s side of the bond.

There had been horror at first, when Obi-Wan stepped out to face his old enemy, but then, shockingly, _relief_.

 _I’m not crazy_.

He is going to have a _very_ long talk with his Master when this is done.

Then he’s going to tell the Council and let _them_ have a long talk with him.

The tables have kriffing turned and Obi-Wan is going to rue the day he talked Anakin around from years of fear and mistrust.

He’s going to _live_ to rue it.

He’s going to _live_.

* * *

Jango is going to murder his husband. This much is a given. If Obi-Wan is suitably apologetic - and he doubts he will be because he’s a lying, sneaky, bastard of a Jetii - then Jango might take pity on him and kill him quickly.

He might take pity on him anyway. He’s going to _need_ to kill him quickly. If he doesn’t... kriff, if he doesn’t....

He might end up proposing all over again.

Obi-Wan is beautiful.

He’s getting the shit kicked out of him, that much is true, but every time he gets back up again, every time he stands and fights for Jango, for _Mandalore_ , Jango, fool that he is, falls just a little more in love with him.

It’s kriffing ridiculous.

He’s not going to say it’s inappropriate because it’s not so much an unwritten rule that Mandos fall for warriors as it is _literally_ written.

But, and here’s the true miracle, while Jango watches, helpless to protect him and yet loudly screaming for his _riduur_ to rip a Sith’s spine out, the crowds start to teeter on the edge of the same slope Jango fell ass over bucket down so many years ago. They don’t like Obi-Wan, he’s a Jetii and that speaks for itself, but they know who he is. He’s Jango’s _riduur_. He’s Mando’ad. They don’t have to like him for him to be one of them.

Maul, on the other hand, has no tie to Mandalore. He’s a mercenary for hire, a tool used by a coward unwilling to fight for the title he claims.

It doesn’t matter to them that Jango isn’t the one fighting, not now. For every drop of blood Obi-Wan sheds, Mandalore stakes its claim on him. Every time he gets back on his feet, the crowd grows louder. Every time he forces Maul into an error, they scream in triumph.

And Jango... Jango doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t know how to even start processing the idea that they might come to accept his husband, that this might actually be what earns him their trust.

Years of pain, of separation, and apparently all Jango needed to do was let Obi-Wan loose with a lightsaber in order to win his people’s favor.

Obi-Wan is right, kriffing hells. Mando’ade _are_ ridiculous.

Half an hour, and neither opponent has the upper hand. Obi-Wan is exhausted, Jango can tell as much just looking at him, but he’s in control. He’s not made a single technical error. Every hit he’s taken has been a sacrifice made to protect a more vulnerable target. He can’t keep it up indefinitely, but he just has to keep it up a _little_ longer.

Maul is a whirlwind of hate, but he’s making mistakes. To the untrained eye, the fight is his and should’ve ended a long time ago. To Jango, to the thousands of eyes bearing witness, there’s no mistaking who the superior fighter really is.

“Come on,” Jango whispers. His voice is raw from screaming, his heart still lodged firmly in his throat. One misstep and the fight is over, but Obi-Wan can do this, he _knows_ he can do this...

Cody is as still as a statue beside him. He’s not uttered a word and barely budged, freezing the first time red blade met blue, and not moving since. Jango doesn’t let the push of the crowd behind them separate him from the boy. Cody can take care of himself, but his entire world has narrowed to the focus of Obi-Wan and Maul.

“Come _on_. His footwork is getting sloppy, use it...” Obi-Wan has already put a substantial dent in one of those metal legs. A glancing blow, not enough to sever the limb entirely, but to propel Maul into an apoplectic rage.

Vizsla’s looking worried. Bo Katan is expressionless and the hulking figure still hiding in his cloak is a mystery, but Vizsla....

Jango bares his teeth, knows in his heart he’s going to rip his kriffing spine out of his throat, and enjoys his building anxiety. _Shabuir_ put his faith in the wrong kriffing Force user.

A hush falls over the crowd as Obi-Wan falls back, bleeding heavily from a Force hurled rock that’s cut his cheek. Maul stalks forward, moves for a finishing blow, and-

\- Obi-Wan summersaults over his head and slices the duel ended saber clean in two.

And then, after an entire fight of being on the back foot, he explodes into the offense. It catches Maul completely off guard, one saber flying out of his hand, the other forced away at such an angle that Obi-Wan can deliver a brutal backhand to his face.

He pushes on, forcing Maul to retreat, to scramble, to make mistake after mistake, the ground shaking under the force of a Sith’s rage and a Jedi’s wrath.

After what feels like an endless fight, after not breathing for what must be hours, Obi-Wan firmly seizes the upper hand. He knocks Maul back, raises his flashing blue saber, and swings down with for the kill.

A second red saber intercepts it.

Before Jango can scream in fury, Cody punches the energy wall so hard the duratseel braces _cracks_.

The second figure, the one standing by Vizsla and Bo Katan, has shed his cloak and entered the fight.

The people of Mandalore _howl_ in fury.

Officials like Almec, men who are there to ensure an honorable fight, hover uncertainly inside the arena. They can help, they should help, but instead, they stand there, ineffective and afraid.

Jango’s going to kill them, too.

Obi-Wan rolls, deflecting the follow up strike the second Zabrak aims at his head and falling back into a wary defense.

But instead of looking at Almec for support, the crazy bastard reaches out a hand, plucks the fallen half of Maul’s broken saber from the ground with the Force, and stands ready to fight them both.

Jango is going to kill him. Kiss him. Then kill him.

After he’s killed everyone remotely connected to this farce.

“Enough!”

Surprisingly, it’s Vizsla’s voice that calls across the chaos, amplified for the crowd, who fall silent in anticipation.

Reluctantly, Jango tears his eyes from the fight and looks towards Vizsla.

The bottom falls out of his stomach.

“Surrender!” Vizsla screams, the same insanity Jango saw in the man’s father written into the stark white rage of his face. In one hand, he holds a glowing vibroblade. The other is fisted in the hair of Jango’s son.

Boba’s is half swaddled in the heavy cloak the second Zabrak was wearing and must have been hidden from sight until his captor entered the fight. Jango can’t focus on anything but the blood that drips down the side of his face. Boba is his son, the same fire that lives in Jango’s heart burns in his boy as he struggles in Vizsla’s hold, spitting angrily around a tight gag, his eyes red with fear and fury.

Dimly, he hears Cody beside him, his voice quickly lost to the noise of the crowd. That Vizsla is bringing a child into this will only sway even the most stubborn of Jango’s opposers.

Jango doesn’t care.

That’s his _son_.

Boba is supposed to be _safe_. He’s supposed to be on the kriffing ship he’s supposed to be safe, _he’s supposed to be safe..._

Vizsla doesn’t need to ask again. Obi-Wan powers down both sabers, lets himself be hauled forward by a choking pull of the Force and doesn’t fight. He won’t risk any harm coming to any child, and not to Boba. Not to Jango’s boy. _Their_ boy.

When the taller Zabrak’s fist collides with Obi-Wan’s cheek, the world explodes into uncontrolled chaos.

The air cracks. Cody flinches, his hand coming up to his earpiece, Skywalker’s cry of fury so loud even Jango can hear it.

The energy barrier explodes. Metal spokes shatter and rain shrapnel on crowds that, no longer contained, force their way into the arena.

They’ve been betrayed. They’ve been dishonored.

Jango is fast. On the other side of the arena, Anakin is faster. He doesn’t so much shove people out of his way as he does hurl them with his mind, fixed, as Jango and Cody and Rex all are, on reaching the rest of their family.

In the chaos and confusion, it still takes them precious minutes.

And by the time they get there, Obi-Wan and Boba have vanished completely.


	34. Chapter 34

Cold durasteel walls. A grated floor. Thick pipes running from the ceiling. One exit.

There’s not much for Boba to do once he’s dragged into the damp, chilly space, and the heavy chain around his neck is looped through a bolt fastened into one of the walls. All he can do is sit and watch and try to figure out where they are.

Underground, he thinks. They can’t be on a ship - there’s no way anything is getting off the planet without running into a Republic cruiser, so they’re probably in one of the many underground tunnels that exist beneath Sundari. It explains the chill.

That’s good. If they’re still in the city they aren’t far from a rescue. His dad is gonna be _pissed_. Boba just has to wait. He was to wait and be brave and pray really, really hard that Obi-Wan isn’t dead. 

While Boba is chained to the wall, Obi-Wan is hanging from one of the overhead pipes, his head lolling forwards and blood pooling at his feet.

Boba _thinks_ he’s still breathing.

Please let him be still breathing.

He tries to estimate how long it’s been since they were thrown in here. Not long. An hour maybe? Less? They've been left alone, so it's hard to tell. 

How long can people stay unconscious before things get serious?

When he stops to think about it, he’s spent way more time with Obi-Wan unconscious than he has while he’s been awake. That’s probably not a good thing.

After a while though, a soft groan bursts a bubble of relief in Boba’s aching chest. He’s tired and hungry and so thirsty, but watching Obi-Wan start to stir gives him a spike of renewed energy.

“Hey! Hey, wake up!” Obi-Wan’s mumbled response is _very_ rude. “Come on,” Boba encourages. “Wake up!” He tries to move closer but the chain stops him, pulling painfully around his neck.

“Boba?” It takes Obi-Wan a few minutes to focus, soft groans of pain better than scary silence. When he finally comes round, he looks up at his chained wrists, around at the bare cell, and sighs heavily. “Oh come on,” he grumbles. “Not again.”

Boba wilts in relief. “You okay?”

“Been worse, I suppose,” Obi-Wan says slowly. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” Boba replies, wondering why he suddenly wants to start crying. Shaking himself angrily, he shuffles forward as far as he can. “Can’t you do that thing?” he demands.

Obi-Wan’s gaze is scarily unfocused before he blinks and looks at Boba. “Thing?”

“You slipped the cuffs we put on you like a billion times,” he says impatiently. “So... do it again.”

Raising his head to squint in annoyance at the chains that keep him hanging so awkwardly, Obi-Wan lets out another dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately that would require access to the Force, something I don’t currently have.” A thick band around his neck emits a sickly yellow pulsing glow as if to prove his point.

“So you cheated,” Boba says. It’s annoying _now_ , but kinda vindicating. He knew no one was _that_ good.

Obi-Wan looks affronted. “It’s not cheating to use one’s skills to achieve your goals.”

“You used a magic superpower that only you and what, a hundred thousand other people have? Cheating.”

“While there are many untrained Force-sensitives in the galaxy, there are only ten thousand or so Jedi, so a hundred thousand is rather a stretch.” Boba stares at him flatly. “Oh, alright, _fine:_ I cheated. Do not tell your father.”

Boba’s first instinct is to grin because it’s _funny_ watching his dad and Obi-Wan argue. Then he remembers how much trouble he’s going to be in and it’s hard to find anything funny at all.

Seeing his expression, Obi-Wan flashes a soft smile and Boba suddenly gets why his brothers all love him so much. It’s not that he _doesn’t_ like Obi-Wan, but he’s not really seen anything really worthy of the kind of devotion so many people show him. But that smile makes him feel safe. Despite everything, he manages to be reassuring.

“It will all be okay, Boba,” he says gently.

“Dad’s gonna be mad.”

“Oh don’t worry, you can use the time he spends trying to kill me to formulate a good defense.” Obi-Wan winks then grimaces. The skin above his eye is split and still bleeding. “Although, I feel obliged to tell you what a monumentally poor idea it was to leave the ship. What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to help,” Boba says stubbornly. At least when dad is angry it’s just a load of shouting. Obi-Wan looks disappointed and it’s awful. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you have really _bad_ luck. You kinda need all the help you can get.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, eying their surroundings. “Unfortunately this is something of an occupational hazard.”

“Really? Do all Jetii get kidnapped three times in two months?”

“Three?”

“Now,” Boba points out, “Jabiim-”

“That’s two.”

“I’ve kidnapped you. And I’m twelve.”

“You had help!”

“I’m just saying. That’s three. And you need to find a new hobby.”

“I need to-” Obi-Wan starts to splutter, then suddenly beams at him. “Oh, you are good. I’m supposed to be reassuring _you_.”

Boba _is_ reassured. He can’t help it. He’s totally terrified because, for all their many hijinks, no one has ever actually been suicidal enough to _kidnap_ him before, but Obi-Wan is basically impossible to kill. At least that’s Boba’s interpretation. So if he’s going to be kidnapped with anyone, might as well be the lunatic jetii who seems to get himself out of shit just as easily as he gets himself into it.

Besides, the only person who’d come after Boba is his dad. Who is totally going to murder a bunch of people, no doubt there, but there’s gonna be a whole army out to rescue Obi-Wan. A whole army led by Anakin, who is seriously kriffing unstable without Obi-Wan to supervise him, and Cody, who is probably gonna have a nervous breakdown and torch the shit out of everything.

He almost feels _bad_ for the guys that took them.

He's not. But almost.

“I’m totally reassured,” he says with a nod that rattles his chains.

“That’s good,” Obi-Wan muses. “Very good.”

“Are _you_ reassured?”

“It’s not the most uncomfortable set of chains I’ve found myself in,” he says mildly.

Boba hums in what he imagines is a very wise and knowledgeable way. “You know that’s kriffed up, right?”

“Language.”

“Fucked up?”

“Not better,” Obi-Wan sighs tiredly. “Listen, Boba, I need you to pay attention.” The shift in tone puts Boba on edge. Can Obi-Wan hear something he can’t?

“Okay,” he says, feeling as small as he sounds.

“There is every likelihood they will attempt to use you as leverage against me,” Obi-Wan says seriously. “I will do what I can to protect you, but, and I am deadly serious about this, if you get the chance to escape, you _must_ take it.”

“I’m not gonna leave you!” Boba shouts, cringing as his voice echoes around the room.

“You will do as I tell you,” Obi-Wan says sternly. His gaze darts to the door: Boba can hear the footsteps now, hear the voices beyond.

The fear comes back, leaving him cold.

“I-”

“Promise me,” Obi-Wan says hastily. “For your father, if not for me.”

“I...okay. Okay, I promise.”

Obi-Wan sags in relief just as the door is thrown wide open.

Boba can’t help but flinch away from the two men than stalk into their cell. He wants to be brave, but all he can think about is how helpless they make him feel.

He knows the red one is Maul. Knows the towering monster beside him is his brother Savage. He couldn’t do much when they grabbed him, but he’s always been a good listener.

“Kenobi...” Maul stalks forward, all but purring in excitement and satisfaction. “Surprised to see me?”

“Surprised?” Obi-Wan tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “I suppose so. It’s not every day you chop someone in half and they continue to make a nuisance of themselves. Although... I like your new legs. They make you look taller.”

Maul punches him hard enough for Boba to hear bone crunch. Surprisingly, Obi-Wan just spits out a mouthful of blood and chuckles. “I see your social skills are still as shocking.”

“I’ve dreamed about this moment for ten years,” Maul hisses. “I’ve thought of nothing but how to make you suffer. And here we are...”

“It’s taken you a decade to come up with this?” Obi-Wan scoffs. He looks to Savage. “Do you have to remind him to breathe or are you equally as inept?”

“Watch your mouth!” Savage warns angrily.

“Or what? You’ll torture me? I really hate to break it to you both but there’s not a single damn thing you can do to me that someone far more competent hasn’t done already.”

“Is that so? That include killing the boy?” Strong hands unfasten the chain around his neck from the wall and haul Boba upright to drag him over to stand before Obi-Wan. Courage, he thinks to himself. Rex is _his_ age and he survived this. “How about I start cutting bits off him and we see how long your arrogance lasts?”

Boba bites his lip hard, but Obi-Wan merely looks bored. “Really? You know I can just grow another one, right? It’s time-consuming, I’ll grant you, but if you’re really that intimidated by me then by all means. I suggest starting with the toes-”

Before Boba can even gather enough of his senses to recoil in betrayal, Maul is tossing him aside like garbage to wrap his hands around Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Intimidated?” His scream echoes off the durasteel walls. “ _You_ do not intimidate _me!”_

His grip looks punishing but it’s not enough to stop Obi-Wan laughing at him. “And you think _I_ am intimidated by _you?_ By Half a Sith and whatever-” he awkwardly jerks his chin at Savage, “that is? You are a _joke_. A pitiful waste of my time and energy. You spent ten years plotting your revenge and you still couldn’t beat me in a fight. You threw away any tactical advantage you had with Death Watch and now you have the _gall_ to think I’m going to what? Cry and beg for mercy?” His laughter is _awful_ , full of cruel mockery that swiftly becomes a pained choke as Maul’s hands tighten.

“Don’t you laugh!” Maul howls, shaking him so violently that the chains holding him rattle ominously. “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“Brother-” the hulking figure of Savage steps forward and lays a calming hand on Maul’s shoulder. “Do not give him an easy death.” Maul doesn’t let go. Boba shuffles backward, hugging his hands to his chest, tears blurring his eyes. “Brother... _Master..._ do not let him goad you.”

Maul reluctantly unclenches his fingers and Obi-Wan starts to cough and choke as oxygen rushes back to his abused throat.

Despite that, despite being only moments away from death, Obi-Wan is _still_ laughing.

He’s insane. He’s actually insane.

And braver than anyone Boba has ever met.

Boba has been forgotten, discarded, _not_ chained back to the wall. Not torn apart as Maul threatened.

Know your enemy, that’s what dad always says. Obi-Wan clearly knows what buttons to push with Maul and he’s not so much jabbing at them as he is beating the whole console with a club.

 _“You took an apprentice?_ What are you teaching him, dissection? Dooku’s a complete pain in the ass but I can see why your Master needed an upgrade; he at least is credible.”

This is turning out exactly like their fight in the arena: Obi-Wan is badly injured and in chains, Maul has all the power, but there’s no mistaking who is in control. Obi-Wan tugs Maul towards him with baited words and spiked barbs and Maul stumbles forward, blinded by his wounded pride.

“Laugh,” Maul spits. “You know I was planning on giving you your precious husband’s head. I wasn’t expecting him to be such a coward as to send you to do his dirty work.”

Maul’s attempt to wrestle control of the psychological battle is met only by a dramatic eye-roll. “If I’d known it was _you_ he’d be fighting against I would’ve let him have his fun. That’ll teach me to expect quality in my Sith.”

Sharp teeth flash as Maul’s feral smile falters.

“You’re right,” he says softly. That... doesn’t sound good. Boba shuffles a little more. He can see the door now. Savage is still too close but his attention, like Maul’s, is on Obi-Wan. If Boba moves slowly...

“Finally,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Was that painful?”

“I could tear you apart piece by piece. I could kill the boy in front of you nice and slow,” he steps closer, curling his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and drawing him close. “But you’d survive that, wouldn’t you? You’ve survived it before and you’d do it again just to spite me.” His voice is softer now, more menacing. “But you forget something, Kenobi: I’ve been in your head. I’ve seen all the pain, all the rage, all the hate inside you. I’ve _tasted_ it.” He grins, wide and bloody. “Do you want to know how my Master began my training? How I took the first step towards the Dark Side?”

“Drowning baby tooka?” Obi-Wan offers blithely.

“That was step two. You’ve jumped ahead already, you touched the dark when you cut me in half. Remember how much you enjoyed it? How much you _hated_ me?”

“I _pity_ you,” Obo-Wan says firmly.

“You can lie to yourself, Kenobi, but you can’t lie to me. I know you. I know you better than anyone else alive. You dream of the mask, don’t you? Of the dark. A thousand ancient voices whispering evil into your ear, moving beneath your skin, rotting your bones. You hated every second of it, but you _miss_ it. Miss the simplicity of the dark. Miss someone making your choices for you, telling you what to feel, how to feel it...” he presses both his hands to Obi-Wan’s face, holding tight when he tries to jerk away.

“You know _nothing_ about me,” Obi-Wan snarls. For the first time, he sounds truly angry.

Worse, he sounds afraid.

“I know _everything_ ,” Maul snarls. “Who do you think wore that mask before you?”

Savage steps closer, eager and scenting blood as Obi-Wan withdraws into silent stoicism.

The path between Boba and the exit is clear. He can make it. He can run, do as ordered.

He’s not his brothers. He’s not _built_ to obey. He’s also out of his depth.

He can’t leave Obi-Wan behind, but he needs to find help. He’ll never get the jump on both Maul and Savage and even if he _could_ , there’s no way Obi-Wan is walking out of here on his own.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He knows what his dad would do, what he _wants_ to do, but what is he really other than a cheap imitation of Jango? He’s useless. Helpless.

But he knows one thing: he _can’t_ stay here and listen to them torture Obi-Wan. Not and keep calm.

So there’s really only one option, isn’t there? He has to go.

“Let’s see if we can’t remind you just how _dark_ things are in that head of yours,” Maul chuckles darkly.

Boba doesn’t wait for Obi-Wan to start screaming before he runs.


	35. Chapter 35

Rex knows Cody better than anyone outside of his batch. He knows how to read all his _vode_ , but Cody has a reputation for inscrutability that is well earned. Rex just knows how to work with what he’s got.

Right now, that knowledge tells him that his brother’s horrifically complex and messy personal issues with Jango Fett aside, a solid foundation of professional respect is slowly growing.

Granted, he can only tell as much by the fact that Cody’s not shot Fett in the head yet, but hey, baby steps.

Personally, Rex thinks Fett is kriffing amazing.

A total and complete, one hundred percent _bastard_ , but an impressive one.

He also thinks he knows where Cody’s inherited his effortless leadership abilities from. He’s never going to be dumb enough to _vocalize_ his thoughts, but they’re pretty clear. They’re in the middle of what has the potential to be the most dangerous non-battlefield situation they’ve ever been in, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that Fett is in control.

The people of Mandalore are angry. There are thousands of them. _Tens of thousands of them_. All caught up in the adrenaline and emotion of Obi-Wan’s fight with Maul, all feeling the pain of years of Death Watch’s terrorism. Their Duchess has been murdered and their identity propelled back and forth between the bloodiest of violence and the most staunch of pacifism. The complex structure of an entire culture hangs in the balance and just one wrong move...

This has every potential to spiral out of their control. Every potential to escalate beyond something _anyone_ can control. Mandalore stands upon the brink of chaos and Rex... Rex has never been very good at deescalating anything.

At the center of the madness, in the middle of a crowd only one step away from becoming a mob, Bo Katan has Pre Vizsla on his knees, her blaster aimed at his head.

And Jango, tall and imposing in his _beskar’gam_ , is stood only feet away from them. He holds Anakin back with one arm extended in front of his chest and, by some _miracle_ , Anakin is following his lead. No one can doubt that Jango loves Obi-Wan and the’s not a soul who’d dare suggest Boba isn’t the center of his world. But this is his arena. Literally.

By some unspoken agreement, the crowd falls deathly silent. They’re waiting to see who will step into the vacuum of Satine’s death, and they’re waiting to see if the infamous Jango Fett truly deserves his reputation.

But Bo Katan might cause problems. Rex doesn’t understand her motivations. She’s allied herself with her sister’s killers, yet sent the darksaber, the true icon of the _Mand’alor_ , to Jango. There’s every possibility the people will follow _her_ if she calls for another Challenge.

And when her voice calls out across the crowd, loud and crystal clear, it takes Rex a second to mentally translate what she says.

Mando’a isn’t his native tongue. He’s picked up words, sentences, themes, from Cody and the others Jango once taught, but he’s never once stopped to think of the words as _his_. Of this planet as _his_. The disconnect has never been more uncomfortable as he looks around the crowd and looks at the people who are _his_ people and not, and sees in them a surprising sense of comradery that’s he’s never felt for anyone who isn’t family.

 _“Kov’kaysh, Mand’alor?_ ” Bo Katan cries. Her hair is bright as fire, but her features are the same cool delicacy as her sister’s, and right now they are twisted in rage.

It’s not her offer of Vizsla’s head that matters the most, but the way she chooses to address Jango. Whether he likes it or not, Obi-Wan fought on his behalf. And in the eyes of Mandalore, he _won_. All Jango has to do is accept the title.

The people wait, the crowd so silent that Rex swears he can hear the pounding of _Cody’s_ heart beside him.

Anakin twitches. He’s acquiescing out of respect for Jango, but it won’t last much longer. His need to protect Obi-Wan is near maniacal these days and when he finally snaps he won’t be stopped by Jango, Rex and Cody combined.

“Do you know where Maul took them?” Jango asks, speaking in Basic out of respect for Anakin. Bo Katan nods. “Take your rightful place and I will help you get your family back.”

Rex can imagine Jango’s expression. He can also imagine him breaking her neck for daring to leverage his family against him.

Instead, he surprises everyone.

Unclipping the darksaber from his belt, he lets the black blade flare to life.

As the crowd let out a collective gasp, Vizsla tries to turn to Bo Katan. Rex doesn’t need to be fluent to get a general idea of what he’s saying to her.

“The only traitor here is you,” Bo Katan spits, kicking him forward towards Jango. Vizsla’s chin clips the ground as he falls, and though he looks around for help, not a single person in the crowd moves to assist him.

Jango’s voice suddenly echoes off the ancient foundations of the arena. “ _Mando’ade! Ke'sush_!” He turns his back on Vizsla, something that appears to be as symbolic to the crowd as it is stupid to Rex. Absolute silence hangs in the air, heavy with expectation, and something in Rex’s blood _trembles._ They’re witnessing history, Mandalore’s past and future circling each other, both ready to pounce.

Rex has never seen anything like this before, but a part of him _knows_.

“ _Gar vaabir cetare?”_

Anakin twitches beside him his impatience growing, his agitation only spiking with each passing moment. Rex leans closer. “He’s asking if they yield,” he explains. It’s not a direct translation, but he thinks that’s what Jango is asking.

It’s a weighted question, one on which everything hangs.

Then Mandalore cries out as one.

“ _Vi cetare!”_

It’s _deafening_. A city speaking in one voice, the ground trembling beneath their feet. That’s a yes, then.

Vizsla hangs his head in defeat.

Jango isn’t done.

“ _Gar vaabir akaanir_?”

“Will they fight?” he translates for Anakin, his heart pounding in his ears, a rhythm to match the growing noise from the crowd.

“ _Vi vaabir akaanir!”_

“ _Gar vaabir Hukaat'kama?”_

That one Anakin _does_ know. _Hukaat'kama._ That request is something he and his _vode_ throw at each other all the time before they go into a fight. Watch my back.

Standing in the midst of his people, his _blood_ , Jango holds the darksaber high and demands to know if Mandalore will watch _his_ back. If they will accept him as their Mand’alor. If they will be loyal.

_“Mand’alor! Gar vaabir!”_

The staged sense of theatricality suddenly makes sense as each response is shouted loud, clear, and in one voice.

This is Challenge, Judgement, and Ceremony in one.

Rex has seen many things when looking at Jango: father; husband; bounty hunter; an _idiot_. Looking at him now, all he sees is a King. No matter how far he has run, no matter how long it has taken, here, now, his command effortless and absolute, it’s clear that this is where he belongs.

And it’s clear for the first time just _why_ the Kaminoans chose him to breed their army.

The crowd starts to chant; “ _Mand’alor! Mand’alor!”_

Jango finally turns to face Vizsla. “Do you yield?” he asks, the ancient Mando’a words sinking into Rex’s bones.

No one is surprised when Vizsla spits on the ground.

Or rather, Rex, Cody and Anakin aren’t surprised. The crowd howls in outrage, screaming for the head of a traitor.

If Obi-Wan were here then maybe Jango might hold his blade, but Vizsla has handed his only hope for salvation over to the enemy. Rex and Cody will _gladly_ see him die _,_ and Anakin’s vows to the Order have never managed to stretch as far as his Master.

With one sharp, clean blow from the darksaber, Jango gives them his first promise as Mand’alor. Vizsla’s severed head rolls to a stop only inches from where Boba had been held and there’s a bitter sense of satisfaction in seeing his blood join the blood of so many who have fought on this ancient ground.

Without stopping to savor Vizsla’s death, Jango rounds on Bo Katan.

“Yield,” he demands, cold fury underlining his voice.

She makes no move to challenge him, but there’s no give in her posture. She's pushed him to make the claim and now it's her turn. 

“Will you demand it of them?” she asks, indicating Rex, Cody, and Anakin. Immediately, both Rex and Cody tense. As officers of the GAR, they _can’t_ yield, not when to do so is considered an oath of allegiance. If she presses the issue...

Jango doesn’t give her chance to try. “They are my _sons_ ,” he snarls. “They yield to no one.”

There will be more than one shrewd tactician in the crowd who will know how much value and leverage Jango has just brought to Mandalore. She has to be one of them. She _gave_ Jango the darksaber. She must know that he’ll take her head as easily as he’s taken Vizsla’s. And she must know that Mandalore will allow it.

So she bows her head and draws her arm to her chest in a salute. “ _Mand’alor_!” While her first cry of the word had been a challenge, this time Rex thinks he hears joy in her voice. 

He has every right to refuse her loyalty. Given how she turned on Vizsla, on _her own sister_ , it might even be smarter just to kill her.

Maybe Jango has been spending too much time around Obi-Wan?

Instead of taking her head, Jango merely nods in acceptance. “Now,” he says coldly, “take me to my _riduur_.”

* * *

Boba has no idea which way he’s supposed to be running. The tunnels below the city are a wild maze, with many of them leading to dead ends or untraversable areas. He’s had to double back multiple times now, each delay only making him angrier. And more afraid. Dad is going to be furious with him if he can’t remember his way back to Obi-Wan.

He’s going to be furious anyway. Boba snuck off the ship. He got caught. He got _Obi-Wan_ caught.

He just wanted to _help._

Stumbling back into an area he knows he’s been in before, he takes a second to orientate himself and retrace his steps in his mind.

Okay. He can do this.

The walls are wet. Cold. But still mostly made of durasteel. The lower levels have been carved into rock, either rough, uneven surfaces or smoothed, polished stone. He thinks they’re probably older. Deeper. There are carvings on a lot of the walls and long faded paintings. He recognizes some of the symbols. There’s one that’s the same as the ink on his dad’s shoulder and another that he thinks is supposed to represent a Jetii. When he gets out of here, he’ll have to bring Cody down to look at them.

Cody’s the kind of nerd who’ll like them. He hides it well, but Boba can see it. No one can _like_ paperwork the way Cody does and be anything other than weird.

He won’t mind coming back with Cody. He might get along better with the likes of Rex and Fives and Ballsy, but Cody is always honest with him, even if Boba maybe doesn’t want him to be. And he looks after everyone. He’ll look after Boba, if Boba brings him back down here to the ancient city spaces.

Not that Boba _needs_ looking after. He doesn’t. He just...

What if Obi-Wan dies? What if he dies because of Boba? He only has to think back to how bad his dad was after Jabiim, and this time it’ll be worse. It’ll be Boba’s fault.

If his dad hates him, he thinks Cody will let him stay with his brothers.

It feels like he’s been running forever. His chest hurts, lungs burning and throat tight, but it’s not as bad as the way his head pounds. The bastard red horned fighter hit him so hard he was seeing double for hours after he woke up, and his wrists hurt from being bound so tight. His lips are dry and cracked and he’s so thirsty he doesn’t think he can cry even if he wants to. Which he doesn’t. Not much at least.

Left. He needs to go left.

That leads to another set of stairs leading downwards and he tries not to panic at the idea of going deeper into the tunnels. They lead out into a long corridor, a few old, flickering lights hanging from the walls and giving him enough visibility to navigate. Then, _finally_ , he reaches a set of ladders going up. They stretch so high above him that he can’t see the top, but he’ll take the risk. The higher he gets, the closer he is to his dad, and the less time it will be before they can rescue Obi-Wan.

Fighting a wave of dizziness, Boba starts to climb. The ladder is _old_ , rusty and broken in places, so he does what his dad has always told him and hugs the edges, climbing more up the side of it than up the middle. None of the rungs break under his weight and hope gives him speed as he climbs up into the swallowing darkness.

He has no way of knowing how much further he has to go. Not until the world above him suddenly explodes into white light, the darkness moving aside and starting Boba so badly he loses his grip and starts to fall back. In his panic, he grabs the middle of one of the rungs and, just as he feared, the old, flimsy bar breaks.

Before he can even start to fall, a strong hand clamps around his wrist and hauls him upwards. It’s not a gentle hold, but it’s secure, even when he’s tossed over a broad, armored shoulder. The shift in position knocks the surprise off Boba’s ability to think and he immediately starts to fight.

“Put me down!” he demands, aiming a kick at the places he knows will be less protected by armor.

“Hey! Hey, it’s me! Calm down!”

Cody. It’s _Cody_.

Boba wraps his fingers around Cody’s arm and _clings_ to him as they start to move.

Cody’s here and Cody is safe and his dad is probably _just..._

 _“_ I’ve got him - here - careful...” It’s not just Cody’s voice he’s hearing right now, but Rex’s too, and then, finally -

Familiar hands take him from Cody and pull him into a crushing embrace. He can’t help it, his whole body just goes limp as his dad lifts him off his feet and holds him tight, one hand cupping the back of Boba’s aching head, the other wrapped protectively around him.

The urge to cry that he’s managed to resist for so long explodes into a messy sob as he presses his cheek into the hard beskar of his dad’s armored shoulder and clutches at him with shaking hands. “ _Ni ceta, ni ceta,_ I’m sorry, dad, I’m so sorry!”

He waits for the reprimand, for the shouting, but his dad just whispers his name in a sobbing, broken voice, and doesn’t let go.

It’s over. He’s safe, and Obi-Wan will be soon. There’s nothing his dad wouldn’t do for Obi-Wan, nothing he _can’t_ do. Boba just needs to take him there.

Squirming until he’s set back down on his feet, he scrubs his eyes furiously, then looks up and finds himself surrounded by his family; his dad and his brothers together, united in one common goal.

“I’ll show you the way,” he says, feeling braver now than he ever has in his life.

Maybe he’s not _totally kriffed_ things up after all?


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warning for rather explicit observations on the effect and trauma associated the Sith's favorite form of psychic attack. I've always interpreted them as rape analogies and this chapter reads as such. There's also some pretty graphic violence. Jango is...er... very unhappy rn.

They catch Maul and his companion off guard.

Following Boba deep into the winding tunnels and rooms of the underground city, all Anakin can think about is how much his Master must hate it down here. Obi-Wan thrives when surrounded by life, but everything here is dead. Dead and rotten and long pushed out of sight and out of mind.

For once, Anakin isn’t angry with Obi-Wan. He’s angry with Jango and Boba, with Rex and Cody, and most assuredly with himself, but not Obi-Wan. What’s the point? His Master is always going to do the most foolhardy, self-sacrificing banthashite possible and that goes double for when he’s injured and hurting. Anakin knows him better than anyone and he should’ve seen this coming.

So no, he’s not angry with Obi-Wan. He’s never letting him out of his sight again in his life, but he’s not angry with him.

He’s angry with Maul. With Savage, the brother no one knew he had until Bo Katan hastily explained their arrival on Concordia as she led them down to Boba.

She, like Jango, like the entire planet, has not taken well to being used as pawns to enact revenge on someone who has done them no personal wrong. The fact that Obi-Wan is their _Mand’alor’s_ _riduur_ has only doubled down on that displeasure. If Maul and Savage escape them - and they won’t if Anakin has a say - then there’s no way they will make it off the planet uncontested.

Having that backup, not being alone on a planet that might have very well escalated into full-blown war within a system already wrought with conflict, it helps.

And with that in mind, Anakin throws the Force around them all and hides their presence as they close in on the Sith who have stolen Obi-Wan from them.

It’s Savage they encounter first.

Jango kicks the door to the room Boba points at with a trembling feeling and the old durasteel comes completely off its hinges.

Anakin’s blue saber flares bright as he steps into the room, his eyes immediately landing on Obi-Wan, who hangs senseless and limp by his wrists. Maul, the vile, irredeemable sleemo that he is, has his hands clamped on Obi-Wan’s face, his sharp nails drawing blood. Anakin’s own blood boils at the sight.

Maul turns in shock and tries to throw the Force out to knock them back off their feet. Anakin scoffs at the attempt, bats it aside, and tears Maul away from his Master before hurling him headfirst into the wall.

It’s Jango who gets to Savage first though, and Jango who deflects the swinging arc of a red blade with the darksaber before knocking him down to the floor with a punch to the throat that comes so fast even Anakin struggles to see it.

As Maul scrambles to his feet, Jango moves in for the kill.

They say he once killed six Jedi with his bare hands. It’s an impressive statement, but Anakin’s not really given it much _thought_. Not the technicalities, at least.

The darksaber is deactivated in favor of a more hands-on approach. Savage might be a Sith, but he’s not nearly as skilled as Maul, and Jango isn’t kriffing around. He doesn’t give an inch before wrapping a choking hand under Savage’s jaw and twisting him into a headlock. He’s probably got nearly two feet on Jango in height, but it means nothing in the face of Jango's rage and experience.

Maul starts to move towards his brother, but Anakin throws him back.

_Six Jedi. With his bare hands._

Keeping Savage pinned against him, Jango reaches around, shoves his fingers into Savage’s open mouth, and with a scream of strength that feels _inhuman_ , Jango separates his skull from his jaw.

“No!” Maul’s scream is one of fury and heartbreak, and Anakin wonders if he loves Savage they way they all love Obi-Wan.

He keeps that in mind, raising his saber in preparation. He hears a soft _click-click_ from Rex and turns on instinct as the flash grenade sails over his head. They won’t risk firing their blasters when Obi-Wan is in deflection range, but they’re not above making a lot of disorientating noise.

This time though, Maul is ready. He eyes Anakin’s saber, and the darksaber Jango reignites, and as the room explodes into a flare of light and sound, he shoves out with the Force and pushes his way to the exit.

Anakin doesn’t do more than stumble, but it’s a split second he should never conceded as Maul starts to flee.

He has a choice: to leave Obi-Wan, knowing that’s he’s safe with Jango, and pursue Maul.

Or to stay.

Yesterday - _this morning_ \- his answer would’ve been clear. The mission must come first, always. Jango will protect his Master, and he has Cody and Rex and an entire planet’s worth of backup. It’s Anakin’s duty to apprehend the vile creatures who have done so much harm to so many people. He knows his responsibilities. He _knows_ what he must do and why he must do it.

But if he chases Maul now, he will catch him. He’ll catch him, and he’ll kill him. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because he murdered Qui-Gon. He attacked his Master. He would’ve killed Obi-Wan in the arena if given the chance, and there’s no doubt he’ll try and do so again. He should die for that alone.

He’s a Sith and he needs to die, but Anakin is afraid that if he’s the one to do it then he’ll only be treading the same path he started down on Tatooine. He’s promised the Council he’ll guard his soul against the Dark Side, he’s promised _Obi-Wan_ the same, and though he’s not had many sessions with the Soul Healer, he knows enough to recognize the difference between justice and revenge.

Trying to imagine a world where he’d willingly let an enemy escape should be unfathomable, and yet...

He chooses Obi-Wan. He chooses the Light.

And he chooses to stay with the lunatic who just told the entire planet - and possibly the galaxy at large - that Anakin is his _son_.

His Master is alive, and so long as he remains that way there can be no thought of revenge, not when there is something far more important at stake.

Obi-Wan is _damaged._ He’s hurt. And he has been for as long as Anakin can remember. It’s never been more apparent since coming to Mandalore, never been so brutally unsubtle as when he stepped out into that arena, but now he’s seen it, he can’t pretend he hasn’t.

All his life he’s felt capable of _more_. He used to think that being the strongest, the fastest, the most powerful, means that no one can hurt him again. Even more importantly, it means that he can finally protect the people he loves the way he’s always wanted to.

Even after his mother’s death, there has been someone else to blame. Obi-Wan, for not believing in his dreams, the Tuskens for their barbarism, the Hutts for profiteering off sentient life. Losing her is just a sign that he isn't powerful _enough_ , not yet.

He’s always known he’s stronger than Obi-Wan in the Force. He can feel it, the same way he can feel the Force sing in delight when he embraces the Light and quiver in pain when he touches the Dark. It’s taken time to recognize what those feelings are, but with knowledge comes understanding.

He is more powerful than his Master in every way. _Every_ way. And yet he will never be as great a Jedi.

If Obi-Wan can take on an opponent who _should_ outmatch him and _win_ , it can only be because the tenets of the Order, the ones Anakin has always struggled to understand, really _are_ true.

Anger, hatred, pride... if he embraces them when he fights, they strengthen him. Like throwing an incendiary onto a fire, they supercharge every ability he has.

But anger, hatred, and pride all have one undeniable foundation:

Fear.

Obi-Wan is free, truly free, and because of that, he is unbeatable.

He who cannot conquer fear will always be enslaved by it. That's the saying, right?

Anakin is _done_ being a slave.

And instead of craving _more_ , he looks instead to what he has.

It’s no longer him against the galaxy with only Padmé and the Chancellor truly understanding him. It’s never been like that at all, no matter what he’s thought. Whether Obi-Wan is his father or his brother or his best friend or all of them at once, he is everything to Anakin.

Anakin can’t turn his back on him. Not now. Not ever.

Turning away from Maul's retreating form, he races back to Jango, who has his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, holding him up and taking the strain off his arms as Rex attempts to dismantle the cuffs.

Anakin can open them in a second, so he does. That awful collar, too. As Jango carefully lowers him down, Anakin strips off his cloak and spreads it out on the ground, hating the idea of Obi-Wan being in any more discomfort than he already is. While Rex starts his triage and Jango whispers soft Mando’a words of devotion, Anakin does the one thing only he is qualified to do.

It must’ve been Maul who attacked him during the assassination of the Duchess. Anakin saw first hand the fragile state of Obi-Wan’s defenses and felt the harrowing ache of yet another brutal attack on his psyche. When he reaches for Obi-Wan’s mind now, he braces himself for what he finds.

At the sharp, frightened recoil of Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin is thrown back into the memory of finding his mom in that Force forsaken camp, and of the exact second he knew what had been done to her. Maul’s torture has not physically brutalized Obi-Wan in the same way, but the wounds left on his mind speak of an equally horrific violation.

She flinched from him at first, not knowing him, not knowing he would die to keep her safe.

Obi-Wan does the same.

But while she quickly recognized him, his Master does not. Obi-Wan repels each attempt at contact as though it’s an attack, and Anakin doesn’t have the heart to force his way past the tattered shreds of his shields.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jango sounds nothing at all like the man who has just united an entire system. The strong, dominating power of his voice in the arena has faded away to something frightened and panicked. He strokes his hand over Obi-Wan’s blood-caked hair and holds one of his limp hands to his chest.

Obi-Wan isn’t unconscious. His eyes are heavylidded, but still open, bright slivers of blue just visible against a backdrop of bloodshot white.

“His pulse is weak,” Rex says grimly. “But too fast. Cody, help me elevate his legs.” Until now, Cody has been holding the perimeter with Boba, but he hands the post over to Bo Katan and drops down at Obi-Wan’s feet. Carefully keeping Anakin’s cloak wrapped around him, he lifts Obi-Wan’s legs and rests them over his own.

His robes are already fairly loose, torn and burned from the battle, but Rex continues to pull open the tabards of his tunic. His lips are almost blue and underneath the splattered blood and bruises, his skin is colorless.

He’s going into shock.

After months of sleeplessness, of thoughtless, unchecked self-flagellation in the name of productivity; after the weeks with Ventress and barely days between his release from the bacta tanks and a psychic attack from Maul; after watching Satine die; after fighting Maul in Jango’s place; after this latest, final attack, Obi-Wan has finally reached his limit.

His body has taken enough damage to force him into physiological shock, and his mind is no less brutalized.

It hits Anakin that even if Rex can keep him physically stable long enough for them to get him to help, he is the _only_ person who even stands a chance of stabilizing the psychic trauma. How can he even start to do that when Obi-Wan is afraid of him?

“Is he gonna die?” Boba appears at his side, tears streaming down his dirty face. Anakin finds he doesn’t want to scream at him the way he once might've. He wants to pull Boba into his arms and comfort him, reassure him, but he has no idea how to even start being that person, and now... now isn’t the kriffing time.

Jango flinches violently at the question. His helmet has been discarded so he can bring Obi-Wan’s hand to his lips, tender kisses pressed into bruised and bloody knuckles. “He’s so cold,” he says, voice tremulous.

He can hear Cody and Bo Katan both on their comms, but his attention is mostly fixed on his Captain, who is unearthing a wealth of medical equipment from a bulky pouch on his belt. It’s a new addition, one Anakin is painfully grateful for.

“I swore I’d not be useless when he needed me again,” Rex grunts, a haunted flash of memory in his gaze as he adjusts the settings on a hypo. “Kix taught me some basics. I’m no expert but-”

“Do what you need to,” Jango says, both issuing the order and taking responsibility for it should it fail. “Hold on, _n’edee_ ,” Jango mutters, his thumb stroking the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. “You don’t get to check out now. Not when I finally have the moral high ground.”

Obi-Wan’s blue lips part, but no sound can be heard before his eyes roll back and only white can be seen below flickering lashes.

“Do something!” Boba shouts. He tangles his small fist in the cloak keeping Obi-Wan warm, his eyes darting between the man dying before them and the look of brokenhearted fear on his father’s face. “Please, Rex!”

Rex is so very careful when he tilts Obi-Wan’s head and dumps what looks to be a heavy dose of a drug directly into his bloodstream. It takes only seconds, but they stretch on for eons before his eyes roll back before closing completely. “It’ll buy us time,” Rex says grimly, “but not much. If we don’t get him to Kix in the next few minutes when he’s going to have a complete system crash.”

“Meaning what?” Jango demands.

“Total organ failure.”

It won’t be the first time. It’s what put him back in surgery despite being in bacta. They’d had Kix and Naps and an entire team of highly qualified medics, not to mention the most high tech and well equipped med suite in the fleet. Even then, Obi-Wan almost died.

“Here,” Rex says, slipping a small rebreather into Obi-Wan’s mouth. “The oxygen will give us a few more minutes.”

“How many more?” Anakin demands.

“Eight?” Rex says, wide-eyed and suddenly uncertain. “Maybe ten minutes?”

“We won’t get him to the Negotiator in time-” Cody shakes his head.

“I have a medical team on standby at the entrance to the tunnels,” Bo Katan assures them. “But even someone who knows them well wouldn’t be able to navigate that much distance in less than twenty minutes.”

“So have them meet us halfway?” Rex suggests.

She shakes her head. “This whole area is off-limits. It’s illegal to be down here. We don’t even have maps. They won’t know how to get to us and if they get lost then we miss them.”

“I can go,” Boba says. “I brought you back here. I can go and meet them.”

“No, Boba,” Jango doesn’t look up.

“But dad-”

“I said no!”

Boba turns away, tears streaming down his face. Cody lays a hand on his shoulder and he leans in, desperate for the comfort.

Understanding leaves Anakin breathless. “Lay him down,” he orders.

“He’s in shock,” Rex starts to protest, “we need to keep his legs elevated.”

“I know,” Anakin rushes to assure him. “But you have to trust me. Lay him down.”

They’re trained to follow orders and he’s never been more grateful for it as they do as he says.

“What are we doing?” Jango looks up expectantly. He’s trusting Anakin with every second he’s not just hauling Obi-Wan into his arms and sprinting for the surface.

“I can’t reach him,” Anakin admits. “I’m not enough.” It hurts, but that hurt has to wait. “But if we all try...”

They might not be able to reach Obi-Wan on their own, but Anakin can. He can feel Rex’s admiration and respect, see Boba’s blossoming love and affection for the man who, in another life, might have raised him alongside his father. He can _touch_ Cody’s endless devotion and adoration, and Jango’s feelings are so deep he can drown in them. Obi-Wan, always so polite, so respectful, will never go looking for the things Anakin has to actively try and lock out, the heightened fear and emotion of their situation oversaturating the Force with feelings and sensations he _knows_ he can channel into something useful.

If they can draw Obi-Wan back from the circling vortex of death that is threatening to take him away from them then he can keep Obi-Wan with them through sheer force of will if that’s what it takes. He has the power. What else is it for if not this?

If he can wrap Obi-Wan in the tangled blanket of love his family has for him, if he can coax those barriers down, if he can just slip inside the sanctity of Obi-Wan’s mind...

He can’t _heal_ Obi-Wan’s injuries, not really, but he can hold death at bay.

He’s going to.

Turning to Bo Katan, he nudges Boba towards her. “Go,” he says, “both of you. Find the medics.” Before Jango can protest, Anakin reaches out to reassure him. “He found us. You taught him well.”

“I will protect your son with my life, _Mand’alor_ ,” Bo Katan says formally.

The fractured grief on Jango’s face only sinks wider into the fissures. “Run, Boba,” he says brokenly.

Boba runs, Bo Katan beside him.

A wheezed, choked breath cuts through the following silence as Obi-Wan tries to take in a lung full of air and can’t, even with the rebreather.

Pushing the panic to one side, Anakin relaxes into the Force’s comforting embrace.

“Please,” he begs, unselfconscious and without ego, “please, help me save him.”

He can demand obedience, he can _overpower_ and direct that energy however he pleases, but to do so would be as grave a crime as the one that has been inflicted on Obi-Wan.

So instead, he looks to the Light. To the Code.

And just as Obi-Wan and the Council have welcomed him with open arms despite so many faults and bad choices, the Light willingly offers him an embrace. It enshrouds him, fills him, cleanses away all of his fear and anger, and leaves only Anakin behind.

With their family’s love in hand and the Light’s willing brightness surrounding him, Anakin reaches once more for Obi-Wan’s cringing, hurting mind. The last time, Anakin helped him rebuild his shields, helped him repair his fortifications. This time, he needs to go deeper. So deep that, if he’s not careful, if he doesn’t give his complete trust to the Force, he might never come back out. Obi-Wan’s pain calls to him, and for once, Anakin is able to truly answer.

This time, there is no resistance. This time, Obi-Wan lays down his defenses trustingly, fearless in the face of his beloved Light, and Anakin takes his first _real_ steps into his Master’s mind.


	37. Chapter 37

Jango throws himself on the mercy of the Jedi Council. With Maul on the loose, with Ventress and Dooku and who knows how many other threats to his _riduur_ still out in the galaxy, Jango makes an executive decision. The 3rd, 501st and 212th included, are currently stationed throughout his system, acting as both a deterrent to any CIS ships who might want to take advantage of the disruption that comes under a new regime, and as a net to catch Maul. There’s no logistical reason they can’t take Obi-Wan back to Coruscant themselves, something that has managed to create even more tension between himself and Cody.

Obi-Wan isn’t leaving because Jango isn’t allowing it. There’s a messy legal precedence he’s setting in doing so, but while Obi-Wan is his husband, Cody can’t just take him without a fight. However complicated things are with his son, neither of them are truly willing to test the other’s resolve. They both want what is best for Obi-Wan, even if they disagree on how to go about it.

Cody himself is another reason Jango is refusing to hand Obi-Wan over. He’s spiraling. Jango knows the only reason he can see it is because he’s done exactly the same. To the rest of the boys, Cody is the same cool, collected, competent, and slightly terrifying badass he’s always been, but whether he likes it or not, Jango _knows_ him. If all he can do to protect the boy from himself is to orchestrate a situation in which Cody doesn’t have to take in the responsibility for an entire army of his vode, Jango will do it. The last thing they need now is for Cody to retreat back into the impersonal professional persona that cuts him off from the contact and support they all so badly need.

So Obi-Wan stays. Cody and the boys stay. And for once the Jetii can come to _them_.

He speaks with Mace Windu and Yoda, both of whom dislike him - as much as Jetii can dislike anyone - for wildly different reasons. When Windu straight-up demands to know if he’s attempting to hold Obi-Wan, and by extension the Republic, to ransom, Jango realizes he has to change tactics.

“Please,” he says, trying to convince himself that these people _care_ about Obi-Wan and simply have different ways of showing it. “I can’t help him. Anakin is doing his best, but I have no idea if it’s actually working. He needs a Soul Healer. _Please_. Please don’t let him die.”

And by some miracle, they agree. Master Che and Knight Eerin are dispatched to Mandalore within an hour of Jango ending the call. He gets the notification sent to his comm and forwards the details to the Negotiator first before looping in Bo Katan.

It’s been eighteen hours since he’s claimed the title of _Mand’alor_. Over a day since he last slept and twice that if he discounts his Force-induced nap. He’s weary to his bones, heartsore and sick with it, and unable to find any joy in walking the halls of his _buir_ knowing he has finally done the right thing.

He has everything that was once taken from him, but all he can focus on is what he stands to lose.

“You need to sleep.” Bo Katan falls lightly into step with him as he makes his way from the communications center to the private medical suite within the Royal wing.

“I thought I needed to address the city,” he says, rubbing his hand over the bridge of his nose in an attempt to massage away his exhaustion. “And deal with Almec. And address Parliament. And, kriff, I need to talk to Korkie-”

“You can deal with matters of State tomorrow,” she says evenly. “As for my nephew... I owe it to him to explain.”

“Explain what?” Jango snorts. “You’ve not even explained it to me.”

“In time.” Her mild response is underlined by a measured half-smile that worries him more than anything else she’s yet done.

“Look,” he sighs, “if you’re gonna stab me in the back and take my place, can you do it in the morning?”

She snorts. “Like I _want_ your job,” she scoffs. “Go. See your _riduur_. I will handle things in the palace until you rise in the morning.”

Every lesson he’s ever learned tells him not to trust her, but it is Obi-Wan’s gentle voice that speaks to him the loudest. He would give her the chance to make amends. He would risk it. Without his husband’s patient presence at his side, all Jango can do is listen to that beloved voice. “Thank you,” he nods.

“ _Ba'gedet'ye, Mand’alor_.”

“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” he admits tiredly.

“Do it quickly,” Bo Katan advises. “We are not a patient people.”

She walks him to the entrance of the Royal wing before stopping and saluting as she did in the arena. “Rest, and take what time you can with your _riduur_. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”

And Jango no longer has the luxury of answering only to himself, of being _responsible_ for no one but Boba. He nods his understanding.

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” she bows her head. If she doesn’t turn out to secretly want to kill him, Jango thinks he will make her his _al’verde._ If Obi-Wan doesn’t let him steal Cody, that is. “Oh, and Fett?” The blunt address makes him raise an eyebrow, at once both relieved to have someone treating him normally and kinda offended that she’s waited until _after_ he decided to begrudgingly like her to do it. “I’ll never stab you in the back. Not my style. If I kill you, I promise you’ll know it’s me.”

“Somehow that’s actually reassuring,” he admits.

She turns and starts to walk away before flashing him a wry grin. “I know.”

She’s a lot more direct than Satine was, that’s for sure, but equally as annoying.

Satine. He needs to see her memorial is properly organized...

Lost in thought, he almost trips over the group of shinies who have camped outside the Royal wing. They’re not on duty, not officially, but they quickly scramble to their feet as though they were. “Sir!”

Jango raises a hand in a gesture to relax. He doesn’t have the emotional perseverance to deal with the very specific ache that comes with talking to the young ones. They look at him in equal parts awe and fear. Maybe once that was exactly what he wanted, but now he can only see himself through Cody’s eyes. Meeting their curious expressions without shame is a task more trying than any he’s undertaken before.

Not knowing what, if anything, he can say to them, he continues on his way to the turbolifts, not expecting anything but silent obedience from any of them. Then, as he finally passes the last of them, a timid voice calls out. “Sir?”

He wants to ignore it. He wants to keep going, to run the distance that separates him from Obi-Wan, take him in his arms and just...pretend, for a second, that he’s not the man he really is.

That voice again, soft and scolding, calls him up short. He can almost _see_ the disappointed look on Obi-Wan’s face, a weapon that cuts sharper than any blade, and so he fixes on a neutral expression, turns, and asks the boy’s name.

“Er, Roots, sir. We - I - were just - we were just wondering if - if...”

He pushes down his impatience and waits the boy out as he struggles to express himself. When Roots falls silent, he reminds himself to be gentle. “Yes?”

The other boys look uncomfortable, none of them able to look at him directly.

“We heard what you said. In the arena. After the General...” Roots trails off for a second, before gathering his courage. “What you said about the Commander and Captain Rex.”

Ah. Honestly, he spoke those words in the heat of the moment, giving voice to the demand of his heart to lay claim to his family and make it kriffing _clear_ to anyone listening that any act of harm against his boys would be taken as an invitation to war with Jango. Every word still rings with the truth of his intention, but he won’t lie:

He might’ve been a _little_ overzealous.

Obi-Wan will give him points for effort and then kick his ass for the delivery.

“You’re wondering if I meant all of you,” Jango summarizes, taking pity on the boy.

Roots looks down at his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“You are my _eyayade,”_ he says as kindly as possible. “My echoes. My sons. I’ve not been a good _buir_ to you boys, but yes. I meant all of you.”

So much goes unspoken in the shared looks they give each other. He can see their desperate need to believe him, but it can’t amount to more than the fear they have of him and what he’s been implicit in.

“If you will give me time,” Jango says, swallowing around the lump that rises in his throat, “I will do everything in my power to make reparations.”

They nod silently, wariness still bright in their young eyes. That’s fine, Jango wouldn’t trust him, either.

He’ll just have to prove he means it.

* * *

In the medical suite, Anakin is twisted into the same uncomfortable looking position he’s seen Obi-Wan take when he’s settling into a deep meditation and is levitating parallel to the foot of the bed. Besides him, Ahsoka has adopted a similar posture. She’s only been on the surface for a few hours as is there more to provide Anakin some stability than she is to help Obi-Wan. “He wouldn’t want me in his head,” she said softly before Jango left to speak to the Council. “But I can help Master Anakin.”

In truth, Jango has _no_ idea what Anakin is doing, only that he’s not really come out of his trance since first slipping into Obi-Wan’s mind down in the tunnel. He’ll move when directed, even open his eyes, but there’s no one home. His mind is not in his own body, but Obi-Wan’s. It’s a concept Jango knows he can’t really comprehend, not fully, and he can’t help envy Anakin the ability to be _useful_.

Obi-Wan is stable. Kix and Naps have worked their magic once more, and now he is swathed head to toe in bacta wraps and bandages, bruises stark on pale skin and a tube down his throat doing his breathing for him until Anakin is confident enough in his psychic stability to withdraw from his mind.

Jetii are strange creatures, Jango knows as much from experience. They have the kind of resilience and fortitude few can match, but they have a unique vulnerability that, fortunately, very few can exploit. The complexities that entangle Obi-Wan’s physical wellbeing with his psychic health are too extensive to try and get to grips with, but the basics are clear enough: they can heal every wound to Obi-Wan’s body, but if his soul collapses under the weight of its trauma, it won’t matter.

“The Council granted our request,” he says, both to the two meditating jetii and Naps, who is on duty while Kix sees to Boba. “If they make good time they’ll be here in four days.”

He’s seen Anakin make a journey twice as long in half the time, but he’s not convinced that the kid didn’t just bend the laws of time and space to his will. It’s that power they’re all depending on now. Jango has seen first hand how much devastation Anakin can inflict on the battlefield, but now that energy is being poured into preservation and restoration. He has no idea if Anakin even knows how to be gentle, but if he can just _reach_ Obi-Wan...

“Can General Skywalker keep this up that long?” Naps asks from the side of Obi-Wan’s bed.

Jango sets his helmet down and starts to remove his armor. There’s no room for a soldier here; he needs to only be a husband. “It’s a stretch,” Jango admits, “but Obi-Wan once meditated for two and a half days just to ignore me one time, so...” he has to fight back a fond smile at the memory and it only grows when Naps looks startled at the idea. “Oh, he was _such_ a little shit when he was eighteen.”

“I guess he had to start somewhere,” the medic says dryly. Jango feels for the kid, he really does.

Free of his _beskar’gam_ , Jango circles around to the opposite side of the bed and presses a gentle kiss to Obi-Wan’s brow. “You were a real pain in the ass, weren’t you, _n’edee_?”

Obi-Wan is silent, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. This close to him, Jango can _feel_ the careful web of calming support Anakin has woven settle down into his bones. The tension eases from his shoulders and it’s hard to feel anything other than safe and comfortable with such a forceful projection of emotion. If he didn’t know what a jetii could do, he’d not understand the sudden shift in his feelings, but knowledge aids his understanding and fills him with hope. If Jango can pick up on it then Obi-wan must be saturated. There’s no way he can’t respond to that much warmth and love.

Without the weight and tension on his shoulders, Jango is finding it impossible to resist the urge to close his eyes. He looks hopefully across at Naps, who rolls his eyes and pretends to scowl before giving in. Jango has already had a similar battle with him after Jabiim. “Carefully,” he warns. “Disturb him _or_ my equipment and I'll kick you out.”

“Yes, _baar'ur,”_ Jango agrees before gladly easing himself up onto the bed beside Obi-Wan. It’s a tight fit and he ends up perched precariously on the edge of the mattress just to avoid direct contact. He slips his hand into Obi-Wan’s and entwines their fingers together. Resting his head next to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, Jango sinks into the pillow and lets his eyes fall closed. He wants to walk in his dreams with his hand still in Obi-Wan’s. He wants _Obi-Wan_ to dream of him. He can’t do what Anakin is doing, but he hopes that if he focuses on how desperately he loves his _riduur_ then maybe Anakin will feel it and send those thoughts Obi-Wan’s way.

 _I love your gentleness_ , he thinks, sinking into the comfort of the bed, awash with the warmth of Anakin’s carefully constructed safety net.

_I love your kindness._

_I love your smile. And your eyes. Please open them for me, kair’ta, please smile._

_I love your strength and your courage and your stupid, stubborn, selfless compassion. I love the way you look at me when you think I’m being foolish. I love the way you let me love you, even when it scares you the most._

_I love how much you love tea. I love that you’ll scold me for breaking the law but turn a blind eye if I brew you a nice, strong cup._

_I love the way you smile into my kiss, the way you curl into my arms, the way you dump me on my ass when we spar._

There are so many things he loves about his _riduur_ that he knows he can keep this going until the healers arrive.

_I love that you never give in._

_I love that you’ll fight for me, for our sons, for Mandalore._

_I love that you’re going to wake up just to prove to me you can._

Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch against his palm.

Jango squeezes back, and lets himself slip into the gentle embrace of sleep.


	38. Chapter 38

Anakin has been in Obi-Wan-Wan’s mind before. Not like _this_ , but something close enough to feel familiar. When he was a child, still so unsure and unskilled in the ways of the Force, Obi-Wan would often sense when Anakin became anxious or overwhelmed and would draw him into the peace and safety of his own mind and a space always carefully crafted to be as soothing as possible to Anakin’s frayed senses.

Somehow that’s led to the impression that the entirety of Obi-Wan’s mind is that same serene, somewhat clinical structure. Now the doors have been thrown open, now he’s not restricted to the specific areas of Obi-Wan’s choosing, he realizes that it’s rather the opposite.

Obi-Wan’s mind is as complex, bustling and full of contradictions as the Temple itself.

And right now, the Temple is burning.

It’s eerily unnerving to wander the halls he knows so well - to know that they mean so much to Obi-Wan that they have become the foundations on which he's built his whole mind- and to see them laid to ruin.

Statues of revered Jedi - ancient and full of wisdom, their faces ones Anakin used to look up at in wonder and awe - lay shattered across the ground, their features smashed and rendered unrecognizable.

Smoke hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Anakin can’t sense where it is coming from, can’t follow it to a source, but it overwhelms everything until it’s hard to see and even harder to breathe.

He tracks footprints of ash and blood across the floor as he presses into the heart of the Temple in search of his Master, and though he _knows_ this is Obi-Wan’s mind and not the actual Temple, his heartrate spikes in escalating horror. This is a sacred place, the heart and soul of an entire culture; seeing it burn fills him with a sick, dizzying kind of terror. He tries to imagine a world in which this _could_ happen and knows he will be long dead and one with the Force before he allows it to happen.

Is this what Obi-Wan saw as a child? Is this the kind of vision he had before Qui-Gon remolded his mind to think only of the present and never the unquantifiable future?

 _His_ visions have a frightening tendency to lean towards the abstract. Were Obi-Wan’s the same? Did he see _this_ , the actual desecration of the entire Jedi Order, or was it merely the only way a child could interpret the kind of defilement the Sith would one day inflict on his mind?

Is this _literal_ , or metaphorical? Is it neither, and all of this is merely some awful, harrowing coincidence?

And where _is_ Obi-Wan?

There is no one around. Not a single soul. It’s as though Anakin is walking through the wreckage of a battle already fought. And lost. In many ways, it is.

Okay. Okay, he just has to _think_. Obi-Wan has created this world, crafted this place of safety, and he’s modeled it on his home. Where does he always retreat to in the Temple when he’s feeling uneasy or afraid?

Anakin turns on his heel, leaves a crescent of blood on the once blue carpet beneath his boots, and makes for the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

If the destruction wrought on the great antechamber of the Temple has left Anakin reeling in horror, the fate of it’s most beloved garden draws tears to his eyes.

Once a lush, sprawling space of tranquility, fountains and waterfalls making the sweetest music to soothe you as you walk through paths overflowing with Life, Obi-Wan’s favorite sanctuary lays in ruins. Water no longer flows and the abundance of wildlife has shriveled and died. All that was once wild and pure has been sullied and it’s here that Anakin can see the true impact of Maul’s hatred. If the broken walls and devastated atrium of the Temple show all the marks of Ventress’s relentless attacks on Obi-Wan’s mind, it is here that Maul has inflicted his most brutal assault.

The Force weeps with Anakin, a wail of mourning and pain striking his heart. How has this _happened_? How did Anakin _let_ it happen?

He remembers all too well the fear he’d had for Obi-wan when Jango first took him, and yet he’s let complacency and his own weakness distract him from the _one_ task he’s supposed to hold most sacrosanct.

Falling to his knees, his palms hit scorched earth and he wonders if he will ever be able to weep enough to transform dry dirt back into rich soil.

There’s still no sign of Obi-Wan, but in truth Anakin can no longer stomach the idea of looking for him. Wherever Obi-Wan is now, how can Anakin bring him _here_? How can he claim the role of protector when he’s too late to do _anything_?

This is Obi-Wan’s mind. Torn apart and set aflame, left so badly damaged after the very worst invasions that Anakin doesn’t even know where to _start_ making it safe again for Obi-Wan to return to. Even if he _does_ , can he ever repair the damage so that every memory of its destruction is washed away? He doesn’t think so.

But the fires are spreading. The smoke grows thicker. If he doesn’t find Obi-Wan first, the inferno will.

He’s come to save Obi-Wan, but the reality is that he is so far out of his depth. Standing in the ruins of his Master’s soul, perhaps all Anakin can do is find him and stay with him as the fire closes in?

The first of his tears finally hits the ground, hissing and sizzling with a heat Anakin can’t feel. Another follows, and another. The ground doesn’t grow fertile again.

Instead, through the charred ash, a tiny shoot strains to the surface. There’s nothing to give it life but Anakin’s tears, and it is _so_ small, barely the length of his fingernail. Desperately, Anakin cups his hands over the little bud, trying to shelter it from the destruction still consuming the world around him.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, beyond the point of caring that he’s talking to a _plant_. It’s green and growing, proof that there’s still Life in Obi-Wan’s mind. “You got this.” A fragile leaf unfurls and brushes his palm, its simple growth somehow the most beautiful thing in the universe. “Please,” he begs, “please live.”

He turns to the Force, to the Light he’s still holding so tightly to his chest, and it responds gladly. There is no sun for the tiny bud to seek, so it reaches for Anakin instead, its growth blooming faster with each pulse of his heart. New leaves form as vines, delicate and wispy, curl around his fingers and then his wrist. Carefully untangling himself before he does any damage, Anakin cups the growing vines in his palms and holds them steady as stems thicken and roots lengthen. Cottonball white buds bloom in clusters before lengthening, growing into elegant, gold-tipped ivory flowers, the petals shaped like familiar bells... he’s seen this plant before. Not here in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but on Mandalore.

“Yes!” Anakin nearly trips over his tongue in a rush to respond. “Jango’s waiting for you! You can’t leave him. You can’t leave Boba, or, kriff, you can’t leave Cody. You can’t leave _me_. Please, Obi-Wan, you can’t leave me. Not now. Not when the world finally makes sense.”

“What are you doing here?”

Anakin jolts to his feet, the beautiful flowers in his hands wilting, but not dying.

On the edge of what should be a crystal blue lake, a small boy watches him warily. It’s Obi-Wan, Anakin knows that much instantly, but he can’t be any older than Boba. He wears the clothes of a worker, knees torn and bloody, his sleeves ripped. There’s no padawan braid tucked behind his ear or short little ponytail gathered at the nape of his neck. Instead, his face is bruised and dirty, swollen where someone has struck him repeatedly, and around his throat, locked tight and its activator light flashing mockingly, an explosive slave collar weighs heavily on his thin shoulders.

Anakin has raged before at the sight of his Master’s mistreatment over the years, but nothing has ever hit him quite as hard as _this_.

The Light recoils from him with a whimper of pain and Obi-Wan takes a precarious step backward.

He holds his hands up hastily. “No, wait!”

There is no anger. There _is no anger_. The people who did this to his Master have been dead longer than Anakin has been alive. He can’t go back and change anything. He can’t _help_.

He just has to try and understand why, of all the many faces Obi-Wan might take when in his own mind, this is the one he chooses.

“You should go,” Obi-Wan advises, looking around at the thickening smoke and heightening flames.

Anakin keeps his voice as gentle and kind as he can manage. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Obi-Wan nods. “I know,” he says, “but you can leave now. I won’t be here much longer.” He touches the collar with an absent hand. His nails are torn and bloody and there are heavy bruises visible under his sleeves - defensive wounds. Obi-Wan has always been a fighter.

Trying not to focus on the frightening finality of his words, Anakin takes a cautious step forward. “Do you know who I am?”

The look that settles on that small face is achingly familiar. Even at...what, _twelve_ , Obi-Wan has a superb stink-eye. “Yes, Anakin, I know who you are.”

“So you know why I’m not going anywhere.”

“Because you feel guilty,” Obi-Wan surmises.

“I. What? No!”

“It’s alright. I was too selfish to stop Qui-Gon throwing himself on his saber for me, but I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Anakin has _no_ idea what he’s talking about. “No one is throwing themselves on their saber,” he says stubbornly. “I’ve come to take you home. To the people who _love_ you. You want that, I know you do. You’d never have let me in if you didn’t.”

Obi-Wan tucks his hands under his arms. It’s a posture he frequently adopts as an adult, one that’s easy to overlook under the layers of voluminous robes he wears, but without them, Anakin can see it for the self-soothing gesture that it is.

“I can’t _stay_ here,” Obi-Wan says desperately. The man Anakin knows is skilled at hiding everything away, but the child before him wears his emotions naked on his face. His eyes are overflowing with tears that cut glossy tracks across his dirty cheeks and his lip trembles.

“So come with me,” Anakin begs, both hands outstretched. “I’ll keep you safe, I swear. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Obi-Wan, I promise.”

“It’s too _late_ ,” Obi-Wan chokes. “Look what _I’ve done_.” He gestures wildly at the destruction around them. His fingers come back up to the collar, to the lock and the activator that powers the explosive nestled inside it. “Qui-Gon should’ve let me do it!” He’s sobbing now, his words choked between broken heaves of his chest. Anakin’s own heart is beating wildly. This isn’t something he’s good at! He doesn’t _know_ how to be the type of person Obi-Wan needs right now. If he kriffs this up...

“Do what?” His own voice is shaking, the flames inching closer.

He could... he could just grab Obi-Wan and drag him to safety. He’s strong enough, and Obi-Wan is weak right now. Even if he tried to fight, Anakin knows he can simply overpower him. He can _force_ his Master to safety.

But there won’t be anything left of his mind to return to. It’ll just be another form of death for him, one delivered by the hands of someone who should be willing to die with him here before enacting yet another violation on his broken mind.

“Do what, Obi-Wan? Let you die?”

“I just want to be good! I want to help!”

Qui-Gon will always hold a special place in Anakin’s heart, but right now he wants to break every bone in the man’s body. How the kriff has Obi-Wan, the Jedi’s most celebrated and beloved Master, the ringing voice of temperance and reason on the Council, the man the entire _galaxy_ turn to for answers, been reduced to this?

That’s the only reason Anakin can think of for why it is this boy he’s speaking with and not his Master. In an effort to expunge the most recent barrage of torment and pain, he’s lost himself in the root of it all. In this frightened, lonely, unwanted, _practically suicidal_ pre-teen.

Anakin’s done. He’s reached his limit. He’s not _good_ with words. He always makes things worse. He _always_ says the wrong thing to Obi-Wan. He can’t risk doing so again. Not this time.

The Force aids him in his movement, helping him close the gap between them in barely a breath. Before Obi-Wan can even start to react, Anakin wraps both of his small hands in one of his own, pins them down against his chest, and pulls him into a firm embrace.

“You let me in,” he says through his own tears, “now let me show you it was worth it.”

He doesn’t have to do much. He’s already inside Obi-wan’s mind. He wants his Master to know, and so he knows. And while the man he is will never allow himself the comfort and assurance he so badly craves, too set in his role of protector and general and Master, this little boy has none of those restrictions. He sees what Anakin wants him to see, feels what Anakin wants him to feel, and he sobs as though the world is ending.

Anakin closes his eyes and rests his cheek against Obi-Wan’s short, dirty hair, and rocks him as he lets two and a half decades worth of pain bleed from him with his tears.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Their minds have always been twined together in so many ways, and now Anakin has seen behind the curtain all of the things he’s taken for granted are being carefully reassess, categorized, and shelved for later examination.

Obi-Wan has pushed his pain down so deep and for so long that it’s taken the most devastating injury to bring the infection in his soul to a head. Anakin’s methods might not be clinically approved, but there’s never anything wrong with lancing a wound, right?

It’s hours before Obi-Wan stops crying. Hours longer before he stirs in Anakin’s arms and Anakin finally opens his eyes.

The fire has burned out. The smoke in the air is now only ash.

The devastation remains, but for now, the risk of further destruction seems to be quelled.

Anakin gives his Master a warm squeeze, surprised to find him a little taller and a whole lot skinnier in his arms. “Hey!” he beams, letting the boy take a step back. “Where we at now?”

Obi-Wan reaches for a collar that is, blessedly, no longer there, before moving up to follow the lines of hollow cheeks. Before, he’d merely been small. Injured, yes, but healthy. He can’t be much more than six months older, but while he’s had some kind of growth spurt, he looks almost emaciated.

Maybe he’s just like Anakin, who could never eat enough to keep up with his metabolism and stayed a beanpole until puberty finally sunk its claws in?

“Melida/Daan,” Obi-Wan says softly, his red eyes brightening with fresh tears. “I think?”

“Okay,” Anakin nods. He has no idea who or what Melida/Daan is, but they’ve got time. “Okay, so we’re making progress, right?”

“This is so stupid!” Obi-Wan sniffles, rubbing furiously at his wet eyes.

“It’s your head,” Anakin points out wryly. “Maybe this is the Force’s way of telling you that you need to process shit? You know... become more well adjusted?”

“I am perfectly well adjusted!” Obi-Wan snaps and then wobbles dizzily on his feet. Anakin grabs him by the forearms and sits him down on the closest and least lumpy rock he can find.

“Okay, no, sit down.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs heavily, “I’ve been releasing my feelings into the Force for longer than you’ve been alive. This is all... it’s so unnecessary!”

“Since I am the only one of us actually in therapy I’m gonna have to break it to you that there’s whole galaxies of difference between letting go of things and actually processing them.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan scowls. On his young face, it’s almost cute. “But do we have to do this now? The timing is hardly convenient!”

“You're talking to the guy who’s landed himself with Council mandated therapy right in the middle of a war,” Anakin snorts. “Shit like this never works to a timetable. Just... okay look...” He crouches down so they can be close to eye-level. “You are _everything_ to me, okay? Padmé is my wife, but you... you’re everything else. You _raised_ me, Obi-Wan. You’ve given me so much. And I know I’ve disappointed you, that I’ve been ungrateful and disrespectful to your teaching, but I want to be better! I’m trying every day to be the man you believe I can be. So when I say that I’m here for you,” he curls his hands over Obi-Wan’s, “what that means is that I’m staying. Right here. For however long it takes. Until you feel safe again.”

“We could leave now,” Obi-Wan says meekly. “I mean, I can try. It’s not... it’s not so bad anymore.”

“The fact that your mind isn’t literally on fire doesn’t mean things are better,” Anakin says firmly. “I know you: if we leave now you’ll find something you decide is more important. You’ll lose yourself in work, in being the perfect Jedi, in fixing everyone else’s mess. And the boy I just held? This boy,” he reaches up and brushes a gentle hand over Obi-Wan’s cheek, “and however many more to come...they deserve better than that. They deserve to be someone’s priority.”

More than that, Anakin finds the idea of leaving Obi-Wan’s mind like _this_ abhorrent. Not when he can help. Not when Obi-Wan is letting him, however reluctantly.

Fresh tears roll down the boy’s cheek. As guilty as it makes him feel, he’s glad of them. “So what next?”

That’s a good question.

Anakin looks over his shoulder, his eyes falling on the only other living thing around.

Gardening can’t be _that_ much different from mechanical engineering, right?

“Now, you tell me about Melida/Daan, and I see how green my thumb is.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin 'I've had a month of therapy and now I'm an expert' continues to do his very best, and Obi-Wan's life is one unrelentingly awful set of events after another. 
> 
> Warnings for this part include pretty graphic descriptions of abuse, including injuries inflicted by a caretaker. And 'that' event Jango still tortures himself over.

Obi-Wan is now fifteen, sporting a black eye from the one ‘ _and only, Anakin, don’t fuss’_ time Qui-Gon gave him a sharp backhand for arguing. Anakin is trying _desperatly_ to block out his patient excuses: ‘ _he was grieving; things actually got better after this, really; he was sorry’_ and is focusing on a short, spiky little plant with near maniacal intent. This one is being especially resistant to Anakin’s care and has taken up almost as much of their time as the tall, long-boughed tree that dangles pink and purple leaves over the edge of what is slowly starting to resemble a lake bed. It’s grown in time with Obi-Wan’s harrowing recount of Melida/Daan and the painful drama with Xanatos that followed. Anakin has his own history with Xanatos, indirect though it is, and the context Obi-Wan provides shines a whole new, horrifying light on events Anakin once mocked and disregarded as a child.

Tears have been shed for Melida/Daan and new life has grown from the ashes, but Anakin’s head is spinning.

If nothing else, he’s uncovered the root of his Master’s infuriating propensity for self-sacrifice.

He’s going to be having _strong_ words with the Council when this is done. There’s no way, simply no way, that _nobody_ wanted to take Obi-Wan as a padawan, either before he was sent to the kriffing Agricorps, or when Qui-Gon abandoned him to uncertainty after Melida/Daan. _Everyone_ loves Obi-Wan. Why did no one fight for him when he was a child?

Why didn’t Qui-Gon?

He understands Jango’s assessment of the man far more now, and while he can’t deny the good the man did, the life he secured for Anakin or the sacrifice he made for the galaxy, there’s simply no denying that he should _never_ have been responsible for a child like Obi-Wan.

It’s not the first time he’s thought that he’d be a better student for Qui-Gon, but now that belief comes with a grim sense of shame. It’s true. His temperament is far more suited to Qui-Gon’s than Obi-Wan’s could ever be, but for once, he doesn’t mean it in a way that is derogative of Obi-Wan talent. They both stubborn men, but while Anakin’s stubbornness manifests in a certainty that’s often arrogant, Obi-Wan’s becomes almost active self-harm.

Take now. Take _that_ bruise. Anakin got hit plenty of times before becoming a Jedi - and a fair few after, though never by someone with authority over him - and he’s always turned the pain outward, he’s always channeled it into an attitude of ‘ _I’ll show you_ ’. He never assumes the blame and he almost always finds a way to even the score somehow.

Obi-Wan is too busy internalizing the blame to even stop and _think_ about revenge. It’s messed up. It’s _so_ messed up.

And it broke Qui-Gon’s heart, that’s what Jango said, right? Clearly the light kriffing dawned on the old man at some point, but by then it would’ve been too late. Any attempt at reparations would only be internalized as codling, as a lack of belief and trust in Obi-Wan’s ability to... to what? Be good? Be the perfect Jedi? To always say the right thing but know when to shut up, to always throw himself on the grenade because kriff, he’d been willing to _die_ at the grand old age of twelve and all because he saw himself as an inconvenient obstacle, a burden weighing Qui-Gon down and stopping him from doing the Proper Jedi Thing and saving the day.

 _So many_ words with the Council.

They think he had anger issues before? There is going to be a kriffing _reckoning._

“I don’t think that one is going to get any bigger,” Obi-Wan says. He’s tucked his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his shins so his bright eyes can watch Anakin work.

“Says who?” Anakin isn’t angry at him. He’s not angry at all. Frustrated, yes. _Itching_ to tear someone a new asshole _._ But how can he be angry with Obi-Wan now? He’s Ahsoka’s age. He’s... Force...Anakin feels sick just thinking about it.

“It’s my head,” Obi-Wan grumbles. “I should be able to help.”

“You’re helping,” Anakin forces himself to make eye contact. “I know it’s hard. It _sucks_. But hey, we’re making progress!”

A small patch of green in an otherwise decimated landscape might look depressing on first inspection, but nothing is on fire. Anakin is taking that as a huge kriffing win.

Obi-Wan lets out a soft hum of reluctant agreement, his chin propped on his knees as Anakin accepts that maybe this one plant really is just short and kinda sad looking. It is what it is, right? He can’t make it be something it’s not.

So. Okay. Moving on...

The beautiful belled plant from Mandalore is still his biggest success, so maybe if he replicates that? Ob-Wan will feel better and maybe things will look a little less hopeless.

Jango is his happy place, right? He certainly loves Obi-Wan. A little bit of that love might go a long way.

“Have I told you I’m proud of you?” Obi-Wan asks out of thin air, startling Anakin so badly he nearly trips and lands on the little green ball of spikes.

“What? Why are you proud of me? I’ve grown like...three plants and I’m pretty sure this is all metaphorical anyway so I don’t even know if it counts.”

“I was talking about the Soul Healer,” Obi-Wan says wryly. “I’m proud of how serious you’re taking it. You’ve grown up, Anakin, into the man I always knew you'd be.”

The honest, open praise brings a fresh sting of tears to Anakin’s eyes. Instead of deflection, he finds it impossible to do anything but tell Obi-Wan the truth. “You died,” he says brokenly. “Or it felt like you did. I... I couldn’t live with the idea of letting you down again.”

Obi-Wan untangles his legs - he’s _so_ gangly now - and steps close enough to wrap an arm around Anakin’s back. “You _never_ let me down. Oh, Anakin, please forgive me.” His young features are stricken and guilty. “I should’ve talked to you about this sooner.”

“We’ve been a little busy,” Anakin points out, angrily rubbing at his tears. He’s supposed to be comforting Obi-Wan, not the other way around!

“And I have been unforgivably distracted.”

“Tortured,” Anakin stresses. “Nearly dying. Twice. Trying to fight one war and stop another. Dealing with Jango and...and everything,” he makes a vague gesture with his hand. There is _so_ _much_ to unpack with Jango and Obi-Wan’s history he’s honestly impressed anyone has gotten anything done since the bounty hunter showed up on the scene. And then there are his brothers. His millions of enslaved brothers.

And there’s a conversation to have with Palpatine. Seriously. Just let Anakin go cut Dooku’s head off and call this shitshow of a war off already.

“You’re still my priority, Anakin. You always will be.” His embrace, though not as strong and comforting as it will one day be, is still a welcome one. Obi-Wan doesn’t hand out all that many hugs, but he’s never stingy with them when he senses they are needed, and _oh_ , does Anakin miss them. He wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s back and holds tightly.

Then startles when he feels bare skin beneath his hands and not the soft padawan robes he’d been wearing a second ago.

The last incarnation of Obi-Wan’s soul might not have been as dramatic as the abandoned child soldier or as traumatizing as the suicidal pre-teen, but it leaves its own scars on Anakin’s heart. He braces himself, wary of what horror comes next. Putting his hands carefully on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, he holds him at enough of a distance to assess the damage.

And freezes, his heart-shattering.

There’s another collar on his Master’s throat. This one is crude, though, a heavy length of chain hanging from a bolt on the front. There’s a second shackle on his right wrist and another length of chain that hangs down to just above his bare ankles. The pants he wears are the same soft beige ones of his daily garb, but they’re held up around his waist by torn strips of fabric and badly ripped at the knees and ankles. His feet are bruised and bloody, filthy with dirt and sand.

And the rest of him...

His face is nearly unrecognizable. Both eyes are black and swollen, one so badly that he can’t even open it. The rest of his face is one black and blue bruise, both cheeks cut and inflamed and his mouth bleeding and split in multiple places.

The rest of his body is no better.

In all their many misadventures, despite so many harrowing brushes with death and violence, Anakin has _never_ seen Obi-Wan beaten so badly. It takes an unimaginable amount of hatred to do something like this and...

Oh. _Oh, Force..._

It’s hard to tell, but from his height and build, Anakin puts Obi-Wan at seventeen. Eighteen at the most.

This, he does know about. Or at least _enough_ about to make an educated guess.

“Jango did this,” he says, barely recognizing his own voice.

Jango’s _admitted_ to it. Anakin has felt his self-disgust and hatred for what he did, but between Obi-Wan’s offhanded dismissal and his own observation of just how madly in love the two of them are, Anakin’s never imagined anything like this.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth and fresh blood spills down his chin. “Please don’t,” he begs, his voice hoarse.

The part of Anakin that wants to rage, that wants Obi-Wan to admit that this is _not okay_ , is drowned out by the bigger part of his soul that simply can’t stand the idea of raising his voice and upsetting him further.

“Okay,” he agrees, surprised by how easy it is. “Okay, okay, just...here. Come here.” He’s never touched anyone or anything so carefully in his life, but Obi-Wan doesn’t resist as he’s folded into Anakin’s arms and held protectively against his chest.

Anakin sinks down slowly, shouldering all of Obi-Wan’s weight.

He can’t fix this. He can’t change it. He’s even certain that Obi-Wan has forgiven it. But he has to recognize the hurt. Someone has to acknowledge it and provide comfort in a way that actually _helps._ It can’t be Jango, who would tear himself to pieces with remorse. Obi-Wan would pour all his energy into reassuring him.

He doesn’t _need_ Anakin to fix anything. He just needs to be seen. He needs to be held. To be loved.

Maybe that’s where he’s going wrong? Obi-Wan has shown him _so much pain_ , and yet Anakin has only been able to coax three plants back to life.

For all of his intention, has he actually done anything meaningful?

It’s Obi-Wan who stopped the fire, whose tears quelled the flames that were tearing through his mind. He made more progress just letting Anakin hold him than Anakin has made in what feels like days of painful, drawn-out discussions.

He just doesn’t know what else to do. But Force, he can’t demand Obi-Wan talk about _this_. Not for one measly plant.

Resting his cheek against Obi-Wan’s head, he rocks him as gently as he can and tries to soothe away the agonizing hurt he knows his mind is reliving. “You know,” he whispers, “circumstances aside, this is kinda nice?” The choked sound Obi-Wan makes is at once disbelieving and amused. “No, I mean... I mean, just think about it. It used to be you and me. Just you and me. Don’t get me wrong, I love Ahsoka and I love our men, but... I do miss us. Sometimes.” Obi-Wan curls brittle fingers around his wrist in agreement. “We’ve always been a good team, right? And hey, now I’ve pulled my head outta my ass a bit-” Obi-Wan tries to laugh and ends up groaning into his chest. “Shit, sorry. I’ll stop talking. Or keep talking?” Obi-Wan nods against him. “Okay! So, er...” how the kriff does he have nothing to talk about? Wait! “Padmé!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groans painfully.

“No, no, hang with me! So you know Naboo has the most insane restorative ecology program, right? Maybe I can talk to Padmé - you know, my wife Padmé -” okay, so he’s enjoying this a little _too_ much, but Force, he’s missed talking to Obi-Wan. Or at Obi-Wan, in this case. “But maybe I talk to her and she can talk to the Queen and _she_ can send her plant people to Mandalore. You know, to fix their ‘whoops we blitzed the whole planet’ problem?”

“You’re babbling, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chuckles, his voice stronger and less hoarse. “But that’s not a bad idea. I don’t suppose she’d have any pointers for here, would she?”

Anakin loosens his arms and lets Obi-Wan sit upright. The bruising is blessedly gone, the chains too. “I don’t actually think she knows anything about plants personally, but- _oh_!”

He goes to look around the ruined space and sees instead tiny buds breaking through soil that is no longer cracked and hard. The new life and growth is tentative and so fragile that Anakin is genuinely frightened to breathe too hard, but it covers _everything_. There’s water pooling in the bed of the lake, only a puddle really, but it’s there, and somewhere in the distance, a soft breeze has started to sweep away charred debris.

The look in Obi-Wan’s eyes is overwhelmingly grateful. “Anakin...thank you!”

“I didn’t do this,” Obi-Wan,” Anakin says softly. “This is all you.” He gets the feeling that Obi-Wan doesn’t really know what to say, so he smiles encouragingly. “So. Where we at now?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t look any older.

At least he’s wearing proper clothes this time, even if they’re... _very_ suggestive. There’s a lot of sheer fabric, and, for some reason... bells embroidered around his wrists and ankles. “Do I even want to know?” He demands, prior context leading him down towards the absolute worse scenarios.

Obi-Wan hugs his arms over his chest, his cheeks a furious pink. “We were undercover,” he mumbles. “Jango and I. With Qui-Gon.”

Anakin forgoes the ‘not under much’ response he desperately wants to make and says, “Okay,’ instead. Gentle. He has to be gentle. No undoing their progress because he's got a terminal case of foot-in-mouth syndrome.

“It’s mostly a funny story?”

“Right. Because everything has been shits and giggles up to now.”

“That... alright, that’s fair. Can we... can we not talk about it?”

“You know I’ll just ask Jango,” Anakin points out as kindly as he can.

Surprisingly, Obi-Wan’s eyes light up. “He ended up wearing a whole lot less than I did.”

And Anakin is officially done asking questions about it. Although... “So why is this on the Rolodex of trauma?”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders slump heavily. “He told me he loved me,” he admits.

“Okay. And what, you didn’t believe him?” He can understand why it might be a struggle, given, well, Obi-Wan’s entire kriffing life up to this point.

“No,” Obi-Wan says miserably. “I believed him.”

“And?”

“It nearly killed both of us.”


	40. Chapter 40

In the days it takes for the _jetii_ to arrive Jango is not idle. With Bo Katan at his side, he makes quick work of rounding up any members of Death Watch who refuse to take the knee. He includes their sympathizes in that list, as well as men like Almec, who need very little motivation before admitting their affiliation and dealing with the late Pre Vizsla. Those who take ownership of their wrongdoings are sentenced to life imprisonment. Those who demand a trial are scheduled one. And those who attempt to serve Jango another’s head to spare their own quickly meet their fate at the end of the darksaber.

He tempers his _buir_ ’ _s_ teachings with his own code of honor, Obi-Wan’s strong morals and, if not direct alignment with Satine’s pacifism then at least enough respect for her rule to not do a complete one-eighty in a matter of days.

Justice has many forms, he’s learned that now.

As for Bo Katan... keep your friends close and your enemies closer, that's the saying, isn't it? While she serves at his side, she’s no longer head of Clan Kryze. Jango names Korkie as his ward and takes regency of the clan until the boy turns eighteen. If she decides to turn against Jango in the future - and by this point he puts nothing past her - then cutting her direct ties to the boy at least removes the temptation to try and use him in any scheme. She no doubt saw the move coming and does not protest it, well aware that while Jango’s popularity continues to rise, her own will rise with him. The Mando’ade might not forget her role in Satine’s death, but they might one day forgive it.

A kinder man might take Korkie officially as his son and name him his heir so that he can continue down the path his aunt has long since had him on. But Jango’s heir is and always will be Boba. Korkie will find a new path; no doubt Obi-Wan will help.

Ruling a planetary system, especially one as complex as Mandalore, is a ruthless taskmaster. One that leaves him little time for anything else. He makes a point of seeing Boba at firstmeal and will sneak a moment late in the night to peer into the boy’s new bedroom to check on him, but for all that he wants the freedom he once had to rejoice in his son’s presence, Mandalore is not forgiving of distractions.

There’s always at least one of his brothers with him at least. Rex and Cody are almost as overrun with work as Jango, but the young ones - Ballsy and Fives and Echo especially - gravitate around Boba like a particularly mischievous cluster of tooka kits. They’ve yet to set anything on fire, which is the most significant sign that Boba is still on edge and wary after his abduction, but at the rate he’s regaining his appetite, it likely won’t be long. He’s almost anticipating it.

It’s the height of absurdity, but Jango is _lonely_.

He spends his days surrounded by _Mando’ade_ who have only just decided they don’t want him dead, putting out political fires from factions loyal to Satine who think he’s a mindless brute, only to turn around a minute later to deal with groups who, in excitement at being free from their pacifistic shackles, are almost set on proving the accusations right.

The time he gets to spend with Boba is minimal, and after becoming so used to Cody’s constant scowl, Rex’s dry humor, and Anakin’s overall insanity, to be separated from all of them is a far harder ask than he could possibly imagine. He misses his boys. _All_ of his boys.

And oh, how he misses his _riduur_. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to spend entire days wrangling every political fraction on the planet; he’d have them eating out of the palm of his hand by midmeal. He doesn’t _need_ Obi-Wan to help him be _Mand’alor_ , but gods, it would be nice to have someone he can turn to when the next hysterical career politician accuses him of ‘sacrificing the soul of Mandalore on the alter of heathenry and debauchery’. If only because he knows _exactly_ what thoughts will go through his husband’s head.

But Obi-Wan is stable. Safe. Watched day and night by Kix and Naps, his mind guarded by Anakin, who hasn’t once faltered in his task.

The _jetii_ entourage is met in the palace hanger by Jango and his painfully serious new Captain of the Guard. Irre Diss is the last scion on a clan Jango once knew as well as his own, her parents both brave, honorable warriors who fought - and died - under his command at Galidraan. She’s more than qualified for the position and Jango has no regrets in selecting her from the pool of candidates to replace the disgraced former Captain, but sweet kriffing hells, she makes Cody look cheerful.

“I know _jetii_ are annoying,” he says to her and the rest of her unit, “but if you could resist the urge to shoot them in their self-righteous faces I’d appreciate it.” It’s a joke, and okay maybe a bad one but then no one is ever going to accuse him of being _good_ with people, but Irre still looks at him from behind her _beskar’gram_ and says, oh so seriously;

“We would never draw arms on your guests unless they posed a credible and immediate threat to your person, _Mand’alor_.”

“Right. That’s... good. That’s good.”

He can’t see her face and it’s her job to pretend to respect him, so he’s gonna just tell himself she’s not looking at him like the idiot he fears he is.

Instead, he focuses on the small party emerging from the _jetii_ ship. He recognizes one of them and has to force himself not to sneer. Unlike his guards, _he_ isn’t wearing armor. Or not full armor at least.

“ _Mand’alor_ Fett.” An elegant Twi’lek woman leads the others in bowing respectfully to Jango as they reach him. “I am Master Healer Vorkara Che. Thank you for your hospitality, and for your generosity in caring for Master Kenobi until our arrival.”

Right. Because he was going to let Obi-Wan just die on his freaking doorstep. He takes a moment. They’re here to _help_. “Mandalore welcomes you, Master Che, and thanks you for your swift arrival.”

Che nods her head. “I understand time is of the essence. If you can lead us to Master Kenobi I will introduce my companions on the way?”

There’s no need to introduce all of them. He’s hardly likely to forget Quinlan Vos any time soon. Vos, catching his eye, looks only slightly less homicidal than the last time they met.

He supposes there’s some comfort in knowing that Obi-Wan consistently inspires murderous rage in his friends and loved ones.

“Of course. Follow me.”

There are four of them in total. Che and a young Mon Calamari woman she introduces as Bant Eerin make up the Healers in the group. The human is Knight Garen Muln, a dark-haired, hazel-eyed man roughly Obi-Wan’s age, who looks at Jango with more than a _jetii’s_ usual serene detachment. He doesn’t like Jango. If he’s spoken to Vos at all, there’s no prize for guessing why.

“How is he?” Bant asks, her soft voice low and lilting. “We read your report, but have there been any updates?”

“None we've not informed you of,” Jango says, leading them through the palace. “His _baar’ure_ have been updating the GAR servers daily so you have everything we do. Physically, he’s stable. At one point we were discussing taking him off ventilation. The damage to his lungs has repaired, but they were worried that if Anakin lost his connection he might start to crash again.”

“Hmm, sensible,” Che agrees. “We will assess his mental condition before making any adjustments.”

Jango has his own guards on one side of the corridor where the medical suite is located. Cody has his own men stationed exactly opposite. Neither party twitch as they let Jango and the _jetii_ pass. No one is taking anything for granted. Maul is still out there; he could be a risk even now.

Inside, the sweet scent of _capoli_ hangs on the breeze that blows through the open balcony windows. The room is already designed to be as comfortable as possible, but Jango has insisted that every effort be made to bring life inside. As well as the dainty pink _capoli_ flowers, several large _cinpel_ plants dangle their delicate, gold-tipped white bell petals and a lush green vine winds its way down the window frames.

If not for the abundant medial equipment, it looks as though Obi-Wan might be the hero in one of the many folkstories Jango learned as a very young child, sat at his _buir’s_ knee, his sister beside him. Jango likes those stories no more now than he did as a child, but with his fan of copper hair and softly parted pink lips, Obi-Wan looks as though he is merely waiting for his _riduur’s_ kiss to wake him.

Jango _has_ tried that. In the hours of the morning where the stars are brightest and his eyes are burning from exhaustion. Obi-Wan never twitched, so Jango would kiss him again and leave to pour over Sundari’s annual budget.

“Aw, kid,” he hears Vos exclaim softly. Jango can’t truly hate him, as much as he would like to. Vos’s issue with him is legitimate, however frustrating. So long as Obi-Wan continues to ignore the man’s less than subtle suggestions that he’s better off without Jango, he thinks he can bring himself to tolerate any dislike. If he had the power to relive the past memory - and pain - of an event merely by touch, he likely wouldn’t like anyone who’d done half the things Jango has done to Obi-Wan either.

“He’s grown up,” Garen says, taking a spot at Anakin’s side and directing Vos to do the same.

Ahsoka, who has been in a light trance at her Master’s side, blinks back to awareness and lights up in the presence of the _jetii_. “You’re here!”

“You’ve done well, padawan,” Che smiles at her. “Your Master must be very proud of you.” She’s moved to rest her hand over Obi-Wan’s brow and places her other hand over his heart. The soft, pulsing warmth of one of the _jetii’s_ famous Healing Crystals of Fire glows from between her fingers. “Both of them.”

Jango hangs back, feeling as useless as ever as the _jetii_ do their thing, effortlessly reaching out to a part of Obi-Wan’s soul that he will never know, no matter how much he loves him.

The _baar’ure_ have done their jobs well and now the _jetii_ hold Obi-Wan safe in their arms, all five of them closing their eyes and slipping into a light trance. There’s absolute silence as they wait, desperate and hopeful.

Jango tries not to pace.

After a long stretch of stillness, Che opens her eyes and beckons him closer. “Take his hand, _Mand’alor_ ,” she encourages. “He will come to you if you call him.”

“I...I can’t _call_ him,” Jango struggles around the weight of the words. “Please...please just...”

“Your heart speaks far louder than your voice, Jango Fett.”

Do all _jetii_ have to be so kriffing cryptic? Do they take lessons?

He takes Obi-Wan’s hand, not believing it will really help and half expecting Vos to try rip his head off.

Instead, Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around his own and the rest of the world fades from his awareness.

“ _N’edee_?” Jango pleads, drawing those cool fingers to his lips. Let Vos hate him. Let the _jetii_ judge him. _“Gar ni susulur liser?_ Hear me, _kair’ta_ , please. Please, you have to open your eyes for me, Obi-Wan. _Gar_ _cuun ade linibar. Gar ni linibar._ Our boys need you. _I_ need you.”

Vos swears loudly. “We’re on your side, Skywalker,” he grumbles.

The stone over Obi-Wan’s chest darkens, its garnet warmth pulsing like a second heart. The bruises that remain scored into Obi-Wan’s body slowly start to fade away and the deep gouges the cuffs have left around his wrists smooth over, scars fleeing from the power of the healing crystal. This is why Obi-Wan wears no significant scars to speak of the incalculable injuries he’s accumulated over the years. To see him so healed, so whole and unmarred and beautiful again... it makes Jango’s heart ache. He wants that for Obi-Wan, he does. He wants freedom from the physical reminders that he himself wears, but he grieves regardless. The marks of his wounds may fade, but their memory does not. For all who look upon him and see smooth, unscarred flesh there is no understanding of the true horrors he’s faced. No one would guess. No one would _know_. Just those who witness the pain. And those with the power to relive it.

_“Kair’ta.”_

Does the crystal have the same power to heal his mind as well? Will he open his eyes and be Jango’s _riduur_? Will he be scared, traumatized? Will the haunting madness that drove him to his actions in the arena still linger in his soul?

He supposes none of those questions really matter. Only the one.

Will he let Jango help him?

“Come back to us, Master Kenobi,” Vorkara Che orders, her voice ringing with authority.

“Please, Obi,” Bant adds, “you promised you’d be careful this time.”

“We have a deal, remember?” Garen tries to laugh but the words come out choked. “No dying until we’re both Masters.”

“Wake up, Kenobi,” Vos says gruffly. “Or I’m gonna cut your husband’s head off.”

“Quinlan!” Che scolds. Vos shrugs his shoulder and flashes Jango a very unfriendly smile. Jango ignores him. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything but Obi-Wan.

Reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from where it clings to the side of Obi-Wan’s face, he freezes.

Beloved eyes blink slowly open.

And Jango’s heart remembers how to beat again.


	41. Chapter 41

Rex loves his brother. All his brothers. But he loves Cody in a way that no one else has ever really matched. Cody has always - will always - be the star around which he navigates. So long as he stays in his brother’s orbit, he knows that there will always be able to find a stability and a safety that the world at large will never be able to offer him. Growing up, Cody was his greatest champion and most stalwart protector. If Rex struggled with training, Cody would sneak out of his bunk at night and make sure Rex got the practice he needed to excel. If Rex was scared, Cody would find a way to make the world feel a little less frightening.

There’s very little difference between them in age, but Cody was designated a CC right from the start, selected as an embryo for the kind of rigorous training that the rest of the batches both feared and envied. Looking back at it now, Rex has no idea how any of his own batch survived ARC training, and he wonders, not for the first time since the reintroduction of Jango Fett into their lives just how _bad_ things actually were for Cody and his vode.

It’s out of respect Cody that Rex has never pushed for details. He has memories of his own that he’d rather not dwell on, so it’s understandable that Cody is the same. Instead of asking, he finds another way to get his answers. And quickly comes to regret it.

He loves his brother; he doesn’t want to hurt him. Not any more than he's already been hurt.

But this...whatever the kriff is happening now - _has_ been happening for the past few months - is killing him.

He doesn’t sleep, not anymore, hiding away in work when he can and haunting the desks of the ship when he can’t. They hang in Mandalore’s atmosphere, all three of their Jedi on the planet and vulnerable in ways that they can do nothing about, and they wait. Wait for orders, wait for Obi-Wan, wait for Jango to make everything _worse_.

Jango has claimed them as his sons in front of the whole galaxy, and while that itself comes with complications that are _well_ above Rex’s authorization to handle, it has a far more insidious effect on morale than he thinks Jango can possibly know. If ‘taking responsibility for them’, as Jango calls it, is supposed to be a _good_ thing, then the man has completely missed his kriffing target.

And so Rex, uniquely positioned as neither the oldest nor the youngest of his brothers, needs to find some way of dealing with it before something explodes in their faces.

That means braving Anakin’s wrath.

Obi-Wan is awake. News spreads like wildfire through the 3rd and brings with it a strange combination of hysterical relief and unsettling apathy. They _love_ their General in ways most of them still don’t really understand, but they can’t keep up with the constant adrenaline hit of seeing him hurt and in danger without eventually hitting a point where even elation feels like hard work.

They feel _guilty_ for not being happier. And they _are_ happy, but... but they’re exhausted. Not physically. It’s been a good few weeks now since their last combat situation, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. They’re on edge and stressed and have no outlet.

Just this morning Rex caught a Sargent trying desperately to quiet a freshly dispatched shiny who couldn’t stop crying and didn’t know why.

Emotions are fraught on all sides, but stepping into Obi-Wan’s room is an instant balm to his overworked mind.

There’s no sign of Jango, which is by design. Rex has waited until he knows the new _Mand’alor_ is up to his neck in political banthashite, picking and planning his actions like he would a battle strategy.

The room is full of Jedi, and the part of Rex that knows he was _made_ to serve feels himself ease a little in their presence. It’s hard to stay on edge when beings who radiate pure serenity and calm occupy your space.

Not that the conversation sounds very serene.

Obi-Wan is propped up among a mountain of pillows, his features tired and drawn. He’s awake though, and his blue eyes are bright and animated as the circle of Jedi clustered around him throw friendly barbs at each other in playful jest. Most of them seem to be aimed at a man Rex recognizes as Quinlan Vos, not that Vos seems to be all that troubled by being ganged up on.

It’s the young Mon Calamari woman who senses him first, turning from her position at the foot of Obi-Wan’s bed to smile welcomingly. “Greetings, Captain,” she says kindly, holding out a delicate hand and beckoning him further into the room. Rex, his bucket clenched tightly under his arm, tries not to feel guilty for disrupting their conversation. It’s rare Jedi are anything but serious and he knows the value of the relaxation he’s just interrupted.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he says carefully, only to be cut off by a cheer of his name as Anakin pops his head up from the far side of Obi-Wan’s bed. “Rex! How’s my ship?”

“Still flying, sir,” Rex responds to the question on instinct. “All personnel are present and accounted for and all systems are fully operational.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Anakin beams at him, wide and unburdened and looking years younger than when Rex last saw him. Whatever he’s done in Obi-Wan’s mind it’s clearly had a positive effect on him as well.

“Can we help you, Captain?” Obi-Wan’s voice is softer than normal, quiet but strong. It settles Rex further, a spike of reassurance from a man he nearly lost yet again.

“I, er...” he’s not usually this uncertain and just those few awkward words are enough to make both Anakin and Ahsoka’s brows turn down with worry. “I was wondering if I could talk to you, General.”

He’s pined in place by those bright, intense eyes and wonders what it is Obi-Wan can sense from his emotions.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Vos says, stern but not unkind, before raising his head and staring at Rex. “What do you need, Captain?” The offer to help is genuine, and Rex hates that he can’t just accept it, but there really is only one person who can help him now.

“Will you give us some privacy?” Obi-Wan doesn’t break eye contact with Rex as he addresses his friends.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin starts to object.

“Now would be a wonderful time for you to use the refresher, Anakin,” Obi-Wan gently prompts. He looks away from Rex and smiles warmly at his former student. “I promise you I won’t undo all your hard work while you’re gone.”

Anakin’s jaw sets stubbornly and Rex resigns himself to him refusing to leave.

He’s not sure who is more surprised when Anakin eventually nods and rises to his feet, himself or Ahsoka.

“You should get some rest, young one,” Obi-Wan prompts her. “I am very thankful for all your help these past few days, and I’m very proud of you.”

Ahsoka practically levitates with joy as she follows Anakin from the room.

“We’ll make ourselves scarce,” the Mon Calamari woman says, dropping a fond kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead before shoving Vos non-too gently towards the door. “I’ll make sure these two don’t cause too much trouble!”

“You are my very best friend, Bant,” Obi-Wan beams at her.

Both Vos and the man beside him immediately start to splutter in protest. Bant just giggles, as though she’s always known. “I’ll make sure Vokara and your Medics give you some privacy,” she promises, “but I will be monitoring you for signs of distress. Do not overdo it.”

“I’ll look after him, ma’am,” Rex promises. Even as he says the words he wonders why she should believe him. He’s done nothing but let Obi-Wan down from the start.

“See you do, Captain,” she nods, then closes the door behind her, narrowly avoiding Vos’s heel.

“Hello, Rex,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “I’m under strict orders not to really move, but between you and me I’m not even sure I could if I wanted to. Would you sit? I’ll be able to see you better.” He lifts his wrist and waves his hand towards the chair closest to the bed. It doesn’t escape Rex’s attention that he doesn’t raise his elbow from the bed.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks worriedly as he takes the seat. “Naps said you were recovering, but-” but he doesn’t look well.

Obi-Wan smiles a little self-consciously. “Better than I look, I promise. This is exhaustion, nothing more.” Rex isn’t entirely sure he believes him but has no real room to argue. “Tell me what’s on your mind, _ad’ika_ ,” he prompts. He’s not addressed Rex so informally since their escape from Ventress, but it’s an easy excuse to shed the walls and protocols of his rank and reach out to Obi-Wan as one of the vode instead of his Captain.

“It’s Cody,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about him. I wouldn’t... I wasn’t going to bother you, I know you have more important things to worry about right now, and you’re recovering and-”

“Nothing will ever be more important to me than you and your brothers, Rex,” Obi-Wan says firmly. “Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

Rex nods because he’s expected to, then finds himself floundering. “I...I think that’s the problem,” he admits, unable to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I think...”

Obi-Wan reaches out and lays his hand over Rex’s own, squeezing reassuringly. “I will never punish you for voicing your feelings,” he says. “And I will not punish Cody for your concerns.”

“Even if they’re bad? Or about you?”

“Even if.”

It’s instinct to be wary, but Obi-Wan has never lied to him before. He, of all people, has earned the trust he asks for now.

“You’re the problem,” he blurts, instantly hating himself when Obi-wan looks hurt. “No, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is-” he wants to stand and pace and he really wants to hit Jango and he wants to go back to Kamino where everything was simple and terrible and _less_ terrifying than this. “It’s not _just_ you, but... you can’t call me that. _Ad’ika_ , I mean.”

“Forgive me,” Obi-Wan says immediately, “I would never presume to-”

Rex pulls his hand out from under Obi-Wan’s and buries his head in his palms. “No, that’s not what I mean! _Kirff_! I’m not good at this, you know I’m not good at this!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rex,” Obi-Wan says, his gentle tone offset by a wry little smile and a gesture at the bed. “Take your time.”

“Can we pretend I never started this?” Rex asks helplessly.

“If you really wish to,” Obi-Wan offers. “But you’re worried about Cody, and I think you know that we both owe it to him to have an uncomfortable conversation if it means we can help him.”

“I. Yeah. Okay. You... you can call me that, if you want. _Ad’ika_ , I mean. Kriff, you’re my CO, you can call me whatever you like and maybe that’s the problem?” He half expects Obi-Wan to say something, but he just waits patiently until Rex gathers the shape he wants his thoughts to take. “You treat us like people,” he says slowly, trying to get to the root of the problem.

“You _are_ people, Rex,” Obi-Wan says earnestly.

Rex doesn’t nod, although he thinks he wants to. “If we’re people,” he says slowly, “if we’re _Jango Fett’s sons_ , then...” He finds he can’t finish.

“He told me what he said,” Obi-Wan says, and for a second Rex is overcome with an anger he can’t contain. Cody is _devoted_ to Obi-Wan. There’s nothing in the galaxy he wouldn't do if Obi-Wan asked it. And yet Obi-Wan loves Jango.

“You know he used to torture Cody, right?” Rex says bleakly. “I knew about the decommissioning and that...that I don’t think he was entirely to blame. The long necks would decommission any vod who was defective and they didn’t even wait to see if those defects were performance-related for the longest time. I was the first natural-born blond to make it to puberty. My batchmates use to take the blame for things I did wrong in case they jumped on the excuse to send me to the labs.” He lifts his gaze to Obi-Wan’s pale face, and to his credit, the General doesn’t flinch. “I thought that was Cody’s problem. He’s always been protective of us, and Jango being part of the reason why so many of his batch died... but. But I borrowed your access codes.”

That’s a decommissioning offense right there.

“Rex,” Obi-Wan warns.

“I know, sir. And I accept the consequences of my actions.”

“But?”

“But I requested Cody’s training file.”

Obi-Wan has always been more devastating in his disappointment than he is in his anger. Rex shoulders the weight of it unflinchingly. He deserves nothing less.

“You should’ve asked him,” Obi-Wan says, shaking his head. “What you did was a serious breach of trust. Mine, for one, but most importantly Cody’s.”

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Rex shakes his head. “How can I help him if he won’t talk about it?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a long moment. “Honestly,” he opens them again and they are full of remorse, “I don’t really have any room to pass comment after the last few days. Tell me what you found. Jango tortured him?”

It’s a strong word, and one that is maybe misused, he doesn’t know. “He designed the training. ARC and the specialist rotations the CCs undergo. I didn’t even start my advanced training until I was nine, but Cody’s batch followed the same route as the Alpha batch; they started early. It wasn’t...it wasn’t _torture_ like...” he pauses, stricken, aware he’s having this conversation with _Obi-Wan_ , who _has_ been tortured, for real, and not in a sterile environment. “I-”

“Tell me, Rex,” Obi-Wan encourages despite all that, and Rex can’t help but give in.

“But it _was_. They were too young, and if they failed they died and...” he finds it harder to get the words out, his vision blurring alarmingly, “and if we’re _people_ , if we’ve _always_ been people...”

He has to close his eyes, but when he opens them again he’s horrified to see tears rolling down Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “No! No I’m not trying to upset you I swear I’m not! I don’t...I don’t know what I’m saying...” he trails off miserably.

This... he should _never_ have done this. It’s not his place. Not his _right._ Who is _he_ to talk to his General like this?

“This isn’t about me,” Obi-Wan says firmly, already bruising away his tears. “And I think, perhaps, it’s not even about Cody. Not really. Jango claimed you as his son. Publically. After abandoning you. After hurting you and your brothers in unimaginable ways.”

“I didn’t know him back then,” Rex protests.

“And now?”

“Now I like him. I respect him. And I hate him. And I hate that you don’t.” The words are whispered, a secret he barely dares to breathe.

Obi-Wan’s hand lifts to brush a shameful tear from Rex’s cheek. “Because if I claim to love you all, how can I love the man who hurt you?”

Rex nods, mortified beyond anything he might’ve imagined. This isn't the conversation he came here to have.

“The only answer I have for you is not one I feel you will like,” Obi-Wan admits. “But I am a Jedi. Love is the center of everything I believe in, everything I hold dear. And a good Jedi should love indiscriminately, however hard, however challenging it might be.”

Rex pulls a face. “Even Maul? And Ventress?”

“Even the man who murdered my Master and the woman who tortured you,” Obi-Wan nods. “Loving you and your brothers is the easiest thing in the world. Loving Maul and Ventress...significantly less so. But I must. And I do.”

“You’re right,” Rex swallows, “I don’t understand.”

“I would never ask you to,” Obi-Wan smiles sadly. “But please know this, if you can; I love Jango, I do. But you and your brothers are my responsibility: you will always be my priority. There will be many changes in the weeks to come, but I will never abandon you. And I will see to it that you are all released from your bonds to the Republic. I can’t change the past, Rex. That’s a lesson Anakin and I have spent the last few days learning the hard way. All I can do is promise that I will spend the rest of my life fighting for your future.”

They’re words. Just words. As damaging and damning as the ones Jango spoke in the arena.

But Obi-Wan has his trust. And his love.

“What about Cody?” Rex asks trying to bring the conversation back to his brother.

“Dear one,” Obi-Wan smiles, “you have all carried your burdens for far too long, none of your more so than Cody. Let me worry about your brother, hmm?”

“He won’t let you help,” Rex warns him.

Obi-Wan gently pets his arm. “Oh, I think he might.”


	42. Chapter 42

To the surprise of no one, Obi-Wan knows Cody really, _really_ well. After Rex obligingly fetches him a datapad it takes less than ten minutes between Obi-Wan logging into the GAR servers and Cody storming through the door.

“Hello, Commander,” Obi-Wan says with a serene kind of cheerfulness that nearly makes Rex choke on his tongue. “How are you finding Mandalore?”

Rex isn’t spared Cody’s furious scowl and resigns himself to getting his ass beat the next time they spar. Cody is far too respectful to pull half the shit on Obi-Wan that he considers it his brotherly duty to inflict on Rex.

“Sir,” Cody says, his jaw clenched. “You don’t have clearance to be doing that.”

“Says who?” Obi-Wan asks innocently.

The vein above Cody’s right eye twitches. “Your medics. Master Che. The High Council. Your husband. Your friends-”

“And you?” Obi-Wan asks him.

Honestly, if Rex’d known that Obi-Wan’s genius plan to get Cody to listen to him was to just... annoy him into submission... well, he’d probably have considered hiding a lot sooner than he currently is.

“My feelings on the subject are irrelevant.” Cody’s jaw is practically grinding in his effort to remain professional. His relationship with Obi-Wan has been off balance for weeks now; not strained, and not necessarily at odds with one another, but there’s a dynamic neither of them has quite managed to settle into yet and it’s never more obvious than when they aren’t bound by strict mission parameters. They are usually both so busy trying to not worry each other that they never actually manage to address the root of the problem. Or _their_ problem at least.

“So you don’t care?” Obi-Wan asks. It’s _so_ unfair that Rex has to stop himself from saying something. “Very well. Since the individuals you named aren’t here to mind one way or another then I shall just continue.” He returns his attention to the datapad and doesn’t flinch when Cody snatches it from his hand and throws it across the room.

It’s Cody who actually appears to be the most startled by his actions. He stares at the broken pad in confused horror before turning wide, remorseful eyes on Obi-Wan and stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t...I don’t know why I did that.”

That’s Rex’s cue to circle around the bed and steer his unresisting brother down into the chair beside it. Up close, Cody looks like _shit_. Cold, condensed, canned shit. The rings around his eyes are purple and swollen, the thick scar curling down the side of his face lending unnatural age to his pinched and exhausted expression. Physically, Cody is barely twenty-four, but there are times when he looks older than Obi-Wan. Rex gently pries Cody’s bucket from his hands and sets it down on the floor beside his feet.

“When did you last sleep?” Obi-Wan asks, shifting on the bed so he can face Cody better.

“I sleep,” Cody says emotionlessly. “I get the same six-hour rotation as the rest of the men to assure maximum efficiency.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighs, “you realize you actually have to use those hours _for_ sleep?” Cody raises his bruised eyes to Rex and glares at him in betrayal. “None of that,” Obi-Wan says in much the same tone he uses with Anakin when he’s being difficult. “Jedi, remember? I don’t need Rex to tell me that you’re not looking after yourself.”

“Not really sure you’re one to talk, sir,” Cody says bitterly.

The sadness in Obi-Wan’s expression surprises Rex. “I suppose it must look like that from your point of view, but I think you’ll find we aren’t so very different.”

There’s a flash of raw longing in Cody’s eyes before his brother makes a very uncharacteristic shuffle in his seat and darts his eyes in Rex’s direction. “I don’t know if this is an appropriate conversation to have right now,” he says reluctantly.

“Normally I would agree with you,” Obi-Wan nods, “but Rex is not here as your subordinate and, with your permission, I would ask that he remains to keep me in check.”

Cody rapidly becomes outraged on Obi-Wan’s behalf. “ _What_?”

If the subject were less serious, Rex thinks Obi-Wan might smile. Instead, he only watches them both with kindness. “We three have a very unconventional working relationship,” Obi-Wan starts, “both by nature of our shared experiences, and by our connection to Jango. I have authority over you as an officer and as a Jedi, something that creates a very rigid set of rules and protocols that we both find it far too easy to retreat to when a conversation is not to our liking. I would very much like for you and I to talk as men, without rank or responsibility. If you agree, Rex will do his best to ensure I do not speak over you or overlook your contributions. He also has instructions to ensure that you do not merely tell me what you think I wish to hear.”

“I’m allowed to hit you if you do,” Rex says with an air of cheerfulness that is entirely manufactured.

“I believe I agreed to poking,” Obi-Wan says sternly. “ _Metaphorical_ poking.” Rex shrugs innocently.

“I...what do you want to talk about?” Cody swallows. Obi-Wan is asking so, of course, he’s agreeing. That’s something Rex and Obi-Wan have already considered.

“Anakin and I have spent the last few days digging through a truly mortifying number of incidents in my past,’ Obi-Wan sighs miserably. “It was certainly unorthodox and neither of us really had a clue what we were doing, but Anakin, in his love for me, presented a new perspective to events I had long believed I understood. Things that I interpreted as perfectly acceptable or even my fault were reflected back at me in Anakin’s pain and confusion, and has led me to the conclusion that we are, as I said, very much alike.”

“I’m supposed to be a good match for you,” Cody says quietly. “That’s the point. I was trained to be.”

“Absolutely,” Obi-Wan nods, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Did you know that before the war there was an age at which Jedi younglings, if not chosen by a Master, aged out of the Temple?” Both Cody and Rex shake their heads and listen intently. Cody said it himself: they’re made for the Jedi and it’s always a special moment when they are invited deeper into that world.

“Traditionally it came at the start of our thirteenth year,” Obi-Wan says, “though I was still twelve when I was sent away. I thought my whole world was ending.” He smiles a little at the memory, seeming to find amusement in the dire perceptions of his younger self. “I had spent my whole life training to become a Jedi Knight, but at the final hurdle I was told I simply didn’t have what it takes. I was too afraid, too angry, and certainly not talented enough to encourage anyone to overlook the danger of either of these traits.”

“You’re joking, right?” Rex says before Cody can physically combust in outrage.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan says with a smile. “Though obviously my situation changed. It was a very boring and convoluted chain of events, but ultimately I was taken as a padawan learner by Master Qui-Gon. He had already trained two students, though only one went on to knighthood, and had sworn he would never take on another. I, of course, utterly idolized him. Not only was he my last chance of becoming a Knight, but he was everything I thought I wanted to be: he was kind and brave and wise. A truly honorable man. I wanted to be the very best student I could be, and I tried. I was obedient and quiet, I didn’t talk back; in fact, I did my very best to have as little impact on his life as possible. I understood that he never really wanted to take another padawan, and certainly not one as inadequate as I, so I turned myself inside out trying to please him.”

Rex might as well not be in the room now. Cody hangs on every word, his tired face starkly lined with something Rex is almost tempted to say is understanding.

“He was a compassionate man, who taught me to respond to others with empathy and an open heart. I believed, in my youth, that this was all that was necessary. Less than a year into our partnership, I challenged his authority. We were on a planet consumed by war. I wanted to stay and help. He believed our mandate had been exceeded. I stayed. He did not.”

“He left you?” Cody whispers. In a kriffing _war?_

Obi-Wan nods. “I didn’t see it that way at the time. If I’m honest with you, it is only since addressing these subjects with Anakin that I am really able to open my eyes to a new reality. But this was only one of many situations in which I now understand made clear just how ill-suited our partnership was. I longed to please him and was so desperate for his approval that I would fight against my own instincts in order to meet an arbitrary set of requirements that never really existed. By the time Qui-Gon adapted to my presence I was so deeply ingrained in my submission to his needs that he was never quite able to undo the unwitting harm he had inflicted in our formative years.”

“Did... did he hurt you?”

“Maliciously? No. He sought only to teach me, but his methods were harsh and did more damage than I understood. Even when I took Anakin as my own padawan and rebelled against the idea of using the same methods, I internalized this as merely being an inferior student. I’d needed a firmer hand. And there’s no arguing with the results. I am the man I am today because of Qui-Gon’s teaching.”

“He should never have been allowed near you,” Cody says fiercely.

“Probably not,” Obi-Wan agrees, “but I have long defended his actions.”

“You were a child,” Cody growls. “He was supposed to look after you.”

“I was a _Jedi_ child. My life was automatically less precious than those around me. I always understood that.”

Rex leans back into the shadows and shakes his head in silent wonder. Cody doesn’t appear to have caught on to the purpose of Obi-Wan’s story, but he understands now. _This_ is why they call him the Negotiator. Cody is agreeing with the point Obi-Wan wants to make before he’s even raised the topic directly.

“That doesn’t make it _right_.” It’s a little manipulative, using Cody’s adoration of Obi-Wan against him, but gods, if it _works_...

If it works they’re probably going to have a full-scale mutiny on their hands, but if it saves Cody’s from spiraling further...

“Doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan asks gently. “I was born with abilities that separated me from my peers, trained almost from birth to use those abilities safely, to use them for _good_. I knew from the time I could walk and talk that my life would be given in servitude to something larger than myself. Qui-Gon’s lessons were harsh, but they ensured I could face up to the challenges that lay ahead of me. Through that lens, surely the pain was worth it?”

Cody’s fight clenches in the sheets tucked over Obi-Wan’s body. “ _No_. There are other ways to learn! _You don’t_ _torture children._ It’s not fair!”

Obi-Wan swallows heavily. His eyes are bright with tears, but Rex doubts he will shed them after seeing how much they upset him. “No, Cody, it’s not.”

It only takes a second for Cody to realize he’s been circled into a trap. His face becomes expressionless and flat. “We’re not the same. I’m a _clone_.”

Rex is ready to poke, but Obi-Wan calmly continues. “And I’m a Jedi.”

“It’s completely different! I am _literally_ replaceable. You’re-” he waves a hand desperately. “I was made for _you._ To serve _you.”_ The ache in his voice is breaking Rex’s heart.

 _“_ The _only_ difference between us, Cody, is that I have always had the option of leaving. I can walk from this life at any time. You _cannot_. And if your heart breaks for the pain I endured as a child bound _only_ by obligation and desire, imagine if you can how much worse it would be if I had been _made_ for Qui-Gon. If someone who was supposed to cherish and protect me then treated me as he did.”

Cody shakes his head furiously. “It’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” Obi-Wan agrees. “It’s worse. I am only just starting to understand the damage that Qui-Gon _unwittingly_ caused. I would listen to people interact with my Master; love him, praise him, tell me how lucky I was and how much he could teach me and all it ever did was double down on my belief that _I_ was the problem. And I realize now that I have only gone and put you in the same position. By not condemning Jango's actions I have created an environment of acceptance. As a Jedi, I already walk a fine line between morality and duty merely by being a part of this war, but my conflict of interest as your commanding officer and as Jango’s husband has caused me to make unforgivable lapses of judgment. Instead of protecting you, I have forced you to interact with your abuser on a daily basis. I haven’t asked for your opinion or helped you to set boundaries for either my behavior or Jango’s, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“You love him,” Cody whispers. He’s not disagreeing with anything Obi-Wan has said, only trying to excuse it, and Rex has never loved his brother more in his life. No one gets to see Cody like this. No one gets to know how _kind_ he is. How _much_ he loves. He hides it. He has to.

“I do,” Obi-wan smiles tearfully. “But Cody, I love you and I love your brothers, too. Rex, tell him what you told me earlier.”

Cody startles, his eyes are wide and a little fearful as he remembers Rex is still in the room with them.

Rex kneels in front of his brother and takes both of his hands in his own. “We’re _people_ , Cody.”

Cody shakes his head mutely.

“Your souls shine in the Force,” Obi-Wan tells them. “I would know you both with my eyes closed and my ears covered. As unique and precious as the stars.”

Rex forces down the lump in his throat. He has to get this right. For Cody.

“Jango had no right to hurt you,” Rex says slowly.

“He was _training us_ ,” Cody says, helpless as he repeats the same words Obi-Wan said about Qui-Gon. Words he disputed.

“He trained Boba well enough without subjecting him to the things he did to you and the others,” Obi-Wan says carefully.

Cody’s whole body is strung tight, too tight. “Boba’s his son.”

Rex laughs bitterly. “So are we, apparently.”

“He doesn’t get to be the one to decide that,” Obi-Wan says firmly.

“Why aren’t you defending him?” Cody demands, desperation catching in his throat.

Obi-Wan shakes his head sadly. “Jango doesn’t need my protection, Cody.”

“And we do?”

“Whether you need - or want - my protection is for you to decide,” Obi-Wan says gently. “But you deserve it.”

Cody snatches his hands out from under Rex’s, his face twisting miserably. “Permission to leave, sir?” he asks, abruptly pushing himself to his feet.

“Cody-” Rex follows him up, reaching for him, only to be brushed off.

“You said we’re talking as men,” Cody grits his teeth. “Please. I want to leave.”

Obi-Wan is already nodding. “Of course,” he says roughly. “Of course you can.”

Cody doesn’t wait to be told otherwise. He doesn’t even pick up his bucket. And he’s out the door in seconds, leaving Rex and Obi-Wan helpless behind him.

Honestly, Rex isn’t sure if this went well or not. It’s not like it was ever going to go _smoothly_...

He gestures after his brother. “I should-”

“Go,” Obi-Wan agrees.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he scoops up Cody’s bucket.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says, smilingly through tears that have finally been allowed to fall. “Take care of your brother.”

A part of Rex hates that he’s waited for permission. Another part of him doesn’t even know how to start _changing_ that.

Maybe by doing this. Maybe by chasing after Cody and leaving Obi-Wan behind.

By being a brother _before_ he's a soldier. 


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I'll say is that the issue at the root of this chapter is one of the main things that interested me in turning the story from a one-shot to this insanity. Otherwise known as 'how to take all the crap Jango pulled on Kamino and make it WORSE'. 
> 
> So. I'm gonna hide. Over there. Far over there...

Anakin wanders out of the fresher, a towel around his waist and his mind a million parsecs away, only to find Boba sitting crosslegged on the bed. A brief glance around confirms that nothing is on fire, which doesn't explain why the Force feels so heavy and unsettled around the boy.

“Squirt,” Anakin tips his chin in greeting. “Privacy not a thing for you?”

“I can close my eyes if you’re shy,” Boba says cheekily. Anakin just rolls his eyes and grabs fresh clothes before wandering back onto the fresher to change. He’s not _shy_ as such, but he grew up with a man who redefines the word modesty.

“How’re you doing?” Anakin’s not had the chance to check in on Boba and tries not to feel guilty.

“M’fine” Boba mutters. “Have you... did you see Obi-Wan?”

Balancing awkwardly, one leg in his pants and the other out, Anakin grabs hold of the doorframe and sticks his head back into the bedroom. “Has no one told you he’s awake?” Boba lowers his chin and speaks into his chest in a way Anakin used to do when he first came to the Temple. It drove Obi-Wan insane. And he gets why. “What was that?” he asks, unable to decipher the boy’s quiet muttering.

“I said I know,” Boba grumbles.

Leaning back into the fresher, Anakin continues to dress. “So you know you can go and see him, right?”

“What if he doesn’t wanna see me?” Boba asks, sounding more afraid than Anakin has ever heard him.

Tunic on, if unfastened, Anakin heads over to the bed and takes a seat next to the kid. “Why’d you think that?”

Chewing absently on his thumb, Anakin feels an uncomfortable ache in his chest as he remembers just how young Boba still is. “It’s my fault he’s hurt.”

Anakin sighs and rests a hand on his shoulder. After spending days inside Obi-Wan’s head, he’s now reached the conclusion that there's literally not a single person who can to have a straight conversation with his Master without one or both parties trying to blame themselves for something they have no responsibility for.

“It’s _Maul’s_ fault he got hurt,” Anakin says patiently. “And mine for not protecting him. And his for being so damn reckless. And your dad’s for not cutting Vizsla’s head off decades ago. Really not yours.”

Boba draws his knees up to his chin and hides miserably behind them. “I got him caught,” he mumbles. “He was mad at me for leaving the ship.”

“I’m mad at you for leaving the ship,” Anakin says wryly. “But then I did exactly the same thing at your age. Worse, actually. A _lot_ worse. Obi-Wan’s really bad at staying mad for more than five minutes. Then he gets all disappointed and it’s a hundred times worse, but that doesn’t last long, either.”

“Really?”

“Trust me,” Anakin bumps their shoulders together. “I spent the entire time between ages eleven and nineteen actively trying to piss him off. You’re a kriffing angel in comparison.” And after seeing the flip side of those years in Obi-Wan’s mind, he’s never been more in awe of his Master’s kindness. Anakin would’ve dumped his own ass years ago, and yet Obi-Wan’s devotion to him has never faltered.

Boba makes a good effort at a watery smile and then jumps in fright when there’s an almighty crash from outside Anakin’s room, followed by Rex’s cry of “Cody!”

Snatching up his lightsaber with the Force, Anakin sprints for the door in time to see his Captain tearing past him, hot on the heels of Cody, who is angrier than Anakin has ever seen him.

Ten credits says he’s finally flipped and is gonna punch Jango in the face. It's been a _long_ time coming.

Naturally, he runs after them.

“Shouldn’t we go get a grown-up?” Boba demands, struggling to keep up with Anakin’s pace.

“I’m a grown-up!” Anakin protests, skidding around a corner and nearly knocking over a stone statue.

“A more _grown-up_ grown-up!” Boba clarifies. “Obi-Wan. Shouldn’t we go get Obi-Wan?”

“He’s supposed to be resting,” Anakin points out, though if Rex and Cody have left him alone then in reality he’s probably doing a combination of Kix’s ‘Top Ten Things General Kenobi Isn’t Allowed To Do’. “And technically he needs way more supervision than I do.”

Anakin’s great at following his medic’s orders. Granted, that’s usually because Obi-Wan scolds him into submission, but until they find someone more Masterly than his Master to pull rank, he thinks he still wins on the not giving everyone a nervous breakdown front.

Anakin’s not had much, if any time, to spend getting to know the ins and outs of the palace, but he knows the layout from the mission briefing and it doesn’t take long before he can guess where Cody is headed.

At the bottom of a grand set of stairs is the entrance to a large suite. It houses the Royal Library, the archives of the Mand’alor, and an enormously oversized office with panoramic views of the city.

The guards stationed at the door imply Jango is inside, and the public declaration that Cody, Rex and Anakin are as much his sons as Boba means they aren’t in any way stopped from entering. Kriff, the guards salute as Cody charges past them and only look mildly curious as Rex follows a second behind him. When Anakin and Boba follow they likely assure the event is going to make the bulk of the day’s gossip.

Anakin would be exactly the same in their position, so he makes sure the door closes behind them. The delay means he’s only just rushing into the study in time to see Cody planting his fist in Jango’s face and knocking him clean out of his chair.

“Hey!” Boba tries to rush to his father’s defense. Anakin grabs him without thinking, holding him back and keeping him safely out of the way as Cody bends down, grabs Jango by the front of his tunic, and hauls him off the floor.

Jango isn’t even trying to fight back, but Cody’s anger alone is almost more than Anakin can handle. Maybe he’s still raw from his time in Obi-Wan’s mind, or maybe it’s because he knows Cody and cares for him, but the rage and anguish that screams in the Force somehow hurts even more than Maul’s hatred. Anakin feels sick with it, and in his own haste to recenter himself, he doesn’t trust that Boba won’t get hurt if he gets in the way.

Cody’d never purposely harm a brother, but his anger has focused only on Jango and he was made for destruction, not softness.

“Cody-” Rex’s voice is soft and imploring as Cody slams Jango up against one of the pillars that line the balcony. “Vod... please-”

Jango manages to raise a hand, stopping Rex from coming any closer. “No,” he chokes, his tunic pulling tight around his neck as Cody holds him in place, “it’s okay.”

After seeing the way Jango _decimated_ Savage Anakin knows he can escape Cody’s grasp if he wants to.

It would be a brutal fight, Cody versus Jango, and until now Anakin would’ve put his credits on Jango. Not because he’s stronger or faster or even better, but because Cody, an exceptionally skilled warrior though he is, simply isn’t the kind of man capable of the viciousness it would take to kill his own father.

They have very different styles of fighting, for all that their techniques are similar.

Anakin is rapidly reassessing his opinion right now.

He imagines that Cody, young and enraged and full of anger, must be the exact image of the Jango Obi-Wan first met. The same face, the same eyes, the same scowl.

It’s further proof that Obi-Wan is both far too forgiving and far too kriffing insane for his own good.

“Did you know?” Cody snarls, slamming Jango harder against the pillar.

“Let me go!” Boba squirms violently in Anakin’s arms and he has to pay extra attention not to accidentally harm him. “Stop! You’re hurting him!”

“Keep him out of this!” Cody demands of Anakin, not taking his eyes off Jango for a second.

“Easy, squirt,” Anakin tries to be a beacon of calm in the room but finds himself grossly unqualified. A part of him wonders if he shouldn’t step in. Officially, he really should. Letting a Commander assault and threaten a civilian - kriff, a _monarch_ \- is probably up there with the things he’s really supposed to stop, but he also has a feeling that he won’t be able to do so without there being a far worse set of consequences down the line.

And for all that Obi-Wan is probably the one person alive who could put a stop to this, Anakin is desperately glad he’s not here.

“Did you know?” Cody demands again. “Did you _plan_ it?”

Anakin looks to Rex, hoping that he might have some idea what this is all about. Rex merely shakes his head helplessly.

Jango, however, seems to know exactly what Cody is talking about. “Yes,” he says softly.

Cody’s whole face crumples in such overwhelming misery that Anakin feels his breath catch. He shoves Jango hard before stepping away and dragging both hands through his short hair. “Was it always me?”

Jango doesn’t even attempt to straighten his tunic, only straightening up and keeping his distance. “Not at first.”

Cody’s pacing is manic. “Which one of them? Or can’t you remember? Too many numbers?”

“I always knew your names,” Jango says softly. “Gyl was first. Then Crow.”

The only reason Cody’s lips aren’t trembling to match the devastation in his eyes is that his jaw is so tightly clenched. “So what happened? Why weren’t they good enough for you?”

Jango closes his eyes and takes a breath. When he opens them again, he suddenly looks very tired and very old. “They didn’t have the right temperaments.”

“But I did.”

“Yes,” Jango nods.

“Why not the others? Why not Bly? Or Gree? What gave us the right to live and not the others?”

Boba stops struggling in Anakin’s arms.

“Cody-” Jango takes a step forward, a hand outstretched.

Cody scrambles back. “No! No. Tell me.”

A soft huff of air parts Jango’s lips as his shoulders slump. “I didn’t know what position he’d end up taking,” he admits. “So I had to keep my options open.”

Turning sharply on his heel, Cody’s face catches the evening sunlight, tears shining bright and untouched down both his cheeks. “He thinks we’re the same,” he chokes. “And we are, aren’t we? You made sure of it.”

“Dad?” Boba’s voice shakes, a perfect capsule of confusion that’s shared by Anakin and Rex both. “What’s he talking about?”

Jango hangs his head miserably, but the question forces a sneer onto Cody’s face. “Tell him,” he says viciously. “Tell your _son_ what you did to my brothers. Tell him how you tortured us. How you _brainwashed_ us. Tell him what you did to the ones who weren’t good enough.”

For all that they share subtle differences, Boba is just as much Jango’s clone as Cody and Rex, and he’s just as smart. “You decommissioned them,” he whispers, his eyes widening in betrayal. “You _killed_ them?”

“Boba...”

“No, no you don’t get to pick and chose,” Cody snaps. “Does he know?”

Jango jerks his head in surprise. “Boba?”

Anakin tries to rub his thumb soothingly over Boba’s shoulder, the boy’s distress digging sharply into his heart.

“Obi-Wan!” Cody shouts. “Does _your husband know?_ ”

And that’s where Anakin has to step in. Jango’s actions on Kamino are between him and the troops, at least at this level. But if Anakin’s Master is getting pulled into things, if they think for a _second_ that Anakin will allow _anything_ to upset him after spending days trying desperately to heal the devastation left behind by years of misuse then kriff all of them.

“Does he know what?” Anakin demands.

“No,” Jango shakes his head. “No, I would never-”

“Admit it? Risk it?” Cody shouts, physically fighting with himself with every step towards Jango he takes and then retreats.

Neither of them are answering Anakin, which is _great_. “Tell him _what_?” He’s louder this time, and Boba recoils, frightened.

“I love him,” Jango says imploringly. “I was only trying to keep him safe.”

There’s a horrible image starting to form in Anakin’s mind, one that can't be real... _Force_ , don't let it be real.

“Banthashite!” Cody snaps. “If you wanted to keep him safe you would’ve told him what was happening. An army for the Jedi, that’s what we are. Good soldiers who follow orders. You claim to love him and you thought he’d want an army? That _any_ of the Jedi would? You had ten years to tell him. To _warn_ him.”

“You never once reached out to him,” Anakin hears himself saying. “Why?”

“It’s complicated-” Jango starts.

“And then you _ran_. You faked your own death.” Anakin turns his mind to the first _real_ conversation he ever had with Jango. After Anakin had admitted his crimes on Tatooine. He _told_ Anakin... “You didn’t tell him because you didn’t _want_ to. You knew the Jedi would be dragged into a war and you didn’t care. You hate us. You told me that right at the start. The Jedi murdered your family. Force...” he turns away, betrayal crawling up his throat, gripping tight and choking him with horror.

“Anakin, no-” Jango takes a step towards him. It’s Rex that steps between them, blaster drawn. He pauses, his gaze frantic. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You made me to be all the things that you never were,” Cody chokes. “You knew all his weaknesses and you made sure I matched.”

“To _protect him_ ,” Jango shouts, his own tears falling freely. “I made you to _protect_ him. I trained you. And yes, I tortured you. I did what I had to do to make sure you were strong enough. Most of you weren’t, but of the ones that were, you were the only one who could march into hell at his side and bring him back out of his head when the fighting was done. I made you to do what I couldn’t. I made you to keep him _safe_.”

There’s never been a time when Obi-Wan stepping into a room hasn’t made things better.

Apparently there’s a first time for everything.

He steps out of the shadows, tightly cloaked in the Force, stoic and cold, expressionless and calm.

And this close, Anakin can _feel_ his heart breaking.

“Keep me safe from what?”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have NEVER been so sternly yelled at as I have been these last twenty-four hours. You guys are awesome, I love you (and kinda fear you a little), thank you!
> 
> As we step into the chapter that proves that the only reliable narrator in all this is probably Boba, please check the updated tags. I don't do sad endings. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but there IS a light at the end of the tunnel, I promise. I'd never drag you this far down the rabbit hole only to leave you in the dark!
> 
> Also, this really should go without saying, but a character's ethical viewpoints aren't necessarily mine! They're all deeply flawed space lunatics, they all need a good therapist, and most of them deserve a massive kick up the ass.

Obi-Wan’s arrival kills any chance of Jango managing to deescalate the situation.

There’s a blaster pointed at him, Rex’s face pale but set behind it, his eyes unflinching. Cody will never kill him; Cody loves Obi-Wan too much. But Rex might. Of all of them here, Rex is possibly the most likely candidate. His mandate is to protect; Obi-Wan, yes, but Cody as well, as all good ARC troopers should.

Jango’s heart aches at the sight of his _riduur_. He’s been lucky so far; Obi-Wan’s compassion always giving Jango just a little bit longer to love him. It’s not his place, he’s said, to judge or condemn. He’ll _help_ Jango make amends, they’ll do it side by side.

But Cody’s right: Obi-Wan knows he’s done terrible things, knows he’s _capable_ of terrible things, and knows, even if instinctively, that he’s done those things to his echoes. But he’s also seen far more good in him than Jango knows for a fact exists. That faith won't survive this.

He gives in, sliding down against the pillar behind him until he hits the floor.

No one seems to know what to say. They wait on Jango, who doesn’t even know how to start, surrounded by the family he’s managed to destroy at every level. There’s a sense of finality hanging in the air, a corner turned... a line crossed. He’s not good with words, he never has been, but if he doesn’t find a way to fix that he’s going to lose everything.

He’s going to lose Boba.

Funny how that hurts the most. Of all the people in the room, Boba might break him. He already knows he doesn’t deserve Obi-Wan’s love and he’ll never be able to earn Cody’s forgiveness, but somehow he’s managed to raise Boba without fucking him up, without robbing him of his innocence, and now...

Now Boba clings to Anakin and looks at Jango as though he’s never seen him before. Jango wants to tell him that he’s changed _everything_ , that he’s saved him in ways he didn’t even know he needed saving. He wants to tell his boy that he loves him more than he’s ever loved anything or anyone and that he’d sooner die than hurt him.

But gods, how can he say that to Boba only moments after all but admitting to killing his brothers? How does he even try and explain when he can’t even justify it to himself?

“Obi-Wan-” Anakin keeps one hand on Boba’s shoulder and reaches for his Master. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Obi-Wan sidesteps his grasp, his feet pale and bare on the polished stone floor and his soft white sleep clothes hanging from his sharply protruding hips and collar bones. He looks ill, but there’s a keen sharpness to his gaze that warns Jango not to underestimate his temper: Obi-Wan is never more dangerous than when he's protecting the people he loves from a threat. Right now, Jango is that threat.

“The truth, Jango,” he says, his voice deceptively calm. He’s quietly put himself between Jango and Cody, and though his posture is unthreatening and his physical form weak, the fire in his eyes is a stark reminder that he doesn’t need to overpower Jango to destroy him. “You owe us all that much.”

Jango lifts his gaze to Obi-Wan’s face, but finds he can’t meet his eyes. Not without something in his chest shattering beyond repair. “Yes,” he agrees. He owes them more, but this is all he can give.

Obi-Wan’s nod is small. “Start at the beginning. You told me on Kamino that you were hired by a man named Tyranus.” Jango nods. “Tyranus is Dooku. You took a job from the man who led the Jedi on Galidraan.”

Jango swallows painfully. He’d been unforgivably drunk when Dooku found him on the floor of the shittiest bar in the shittiest city on the shittiest moon orbiting Bogda. He’d made a poor effort to shoot the bastard and regrets, not for the first time, that the attempt didn’t kill either of them. “He found me shortly after Jinn was killed,” he admits, wary of mentioning Qui-Gon but committed to the truth he has promised. “He told me the same thing you once did; that he’d been lied to. He said that he was sorry. That he had finally left the Jedi after decades of service, unable to live with the corruption and greed that had taken root at its heart and poisoned the Republic.”

“Of the Jedi?” Anakin demands incredulously.

It’s easier to look at him than it is Obi-Wan, so he does. “I told you once to be wary of the hate that you hold in your heart, to watch that you don’t turn it on the undeserving. I didn’t say that for the hell of it.”

“Yeah,” Anakin sneers, “apparently beating the shit out of people you’re supposed to care for is a theme for you.”

“Enough, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice isn’t scolding, but it is commanding. Jango doesn’t think for a second that he’s trying to spare his feelings. “Continue.”

A cowardly part of Jango longs to tell Obi-Wan that he was lied to, that Dooku manipulated him somehow, but he can’t. “He asked me to help him make things right, to help show the galaxy just how hypocritical the Jedi were. How they preach about love and kindness and compassion and then turn around and butcher an entire group of people without evidence just because it suits the narrative they tell themselves.”

“We talked about Galidraan,” Obi-Wan says softly, stricken. “I never asked you to let go of your pain, but I thought you understood. You told me you understood. That you knew it was a mistake.”

“It still happened,” Jango says, “because the Jedi saw a group of _Mando’ade_ and decided we were monsters.” He still believes that there is something broken at the heart of the Republic, he’s still convinced that the Jedi are _deeply_ flawed. Time has done nothing to ease that belief, though after Jabiim he’s willing to accept it as an institutional problem and not one that lives in the heart of _every_ Jedi.

“Dooku told me of his plans, how he and other systems were going to unite in rebellion and how we could strike a duel blow against the Republic and the Jedi.”

“Then why equip us with an _army?_ ” Anakin is brilliant on the battlefield, but he’s little patience for politics. He doesn’t see the bigger picture, but Obi-Wan can.

“Because it shows us for what we are,” Obi-Wan says, his smile bitter and pained. “Hypocrites who advocate for peace, leading an army of slaves against the Republic’s enemies. Is that what this was all about? Hundreds of thousands dead, whole worlds destroyed, all so you’d what? Achieve some kind of vindication?”

“You don’t understand,” Jango shakes his head. It’s not that _simple_.

“Then explain it!” The effort of raising his voice pitches Obi-Wan into a half stumble. Cody is there in an instant, a hand on his elbow. There to be what Jango cannot. The raw devastation on his _riduur’s_ face as he looks at their son...at Cody...

“You know what I am!”

“No,” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I don’t think I do. I thought you loved me-”

“I do!” The words come out in a single breath. He can live with many things and has for so very long, but if Obi-Wan truly believes Jango doesn’t love him...

“How can you?” His disbelief is hollow and harrowing, lined with the very worst kind of betrayal. Jango has hated himself many times over the years, and never more for the hurts he’s inflicted on the one person to love him despite all the warnings. Obi-Wan has never looked at him like this before. “How can you love me when I am _everything_ you hate? I am a _Jedi_. I gave them my soul long before I gave you my heart.”

Jango can’t help the bitter laugh that bursts from his throat. Honesty, that’s what he’s promised, and in doing so he’s placed himself right in the line of fire. “I thought you were playing with me at first, you know that. Then I thought you were just naive.” He looks down at his knees. “Then I saw you with Jinn. I saw the knots you tied yourself into just to please him. I saw the _damage_ they did to you. And I know that when I asked you to be my husband, to make it _real_ , you wanted to say yes. But you’re loyal, you always have been. But maybe if you saw the Jedi for what they really _were..._ ”

He’s done his best not to dwell on his motivations, not for the longest time. They’d made sense, once. They make sense _now_ , only... only the narrative where Obi-Wan turns, disgusted by the war and by the Jedi alike, back into Jango’s arms... well, it never survived first contact with Kamino.

“You and I remember that night _very_ differently,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “If you’d asked me to leave the Order, if I’d believed for a _second_ that you actually wanted a life with me...” he shakes his head in disbelief. “I would’ve said yes.”

Anakin’s sharp intake of breath is the only sound he can hear above the painful pounding of his heart.

How did he get this so _wrong_? How did he make such a kriffing _mess_ of things?

“N’edee-”

“No.” Obi-Wan steps closer to Cody. “Whatever started this for you, you _had_ to know what you were doing to the boys. Whatever you told yourself to justify your part in bringing the _galaxy_ to war, you had to know what you were doing to them was wrong.”

That’s the thing though. It wasn’t. Not at first.

“I know what you think of me,” he says achingly.

Obi-Wan’s patience is wearing dangerously thin as he scoffs, “I highly doubt it.”

It’d be so easy to argue with him, to get caught up in the back and forth of Obi-Wan’s impossible standards and how he was always going to fall short, but in honesty, he doesn’t have the stomach for it. He can’t. Jango’s motivations for going to Kamino might be inextricably tied up in his love for Obi-Wan, but it stopped being just about him the second the boys went from an abstract hypothesis to living, breathing children.

“Cody-” In many ways, Cody is the very pinnacle of what the program could achieve, the finest combination of genetic manipulation and laser targetted training. Cody, who ages so much faster than Boba, who was walking and talking and firing a weapon before Boba could take his first steps, was his first real introduction to the kind of pride a father can have in their child. He could never say so of course, never play favorites, but he knew from the first time he looked into the boy’s eyes that he was not just the best of Jango, but the closest he’d ever get to seeing the parts of himself that Obi-Wan loved again.

Rex, who has been so quiet and so still, suddenly snaps back into motion. He puts himself between Jango and the rest of his family, solid and stubborn. “No, no you don’t get to talk to my _vod_ , not after what you did.”

He needs to be back on his feet for this. He can’t sit here in his self-pity and say the things he needs to say, not to Cody. Leaning his weight against the pillar, he pushes himself upright and has to blink rapidly as his focus blurs. He’ll be surprised if Cody didn’t manage to fracture something in his cheek when he hit him. Boy’s always had a spectacular right hook.

Jango’s not stupid enough to try Rex’s resolve, not when the boy is armed, but he’s still able to meet Cody’s gaze by leaning slightly around him. “What happened to your brothers...that’s on me. Their blood is on my hands. I accept that-” the twisted sneer that crosses Cody’s face is well deserved. “You were my responsibility, all of you, but I swear to you on the songs of our ancestors, I did not kill them. We were still in the early days of the training program. Alpha batch had genetic instabilities, that’s why so few of them made it to adolescence, and your batch...” he has to stop and close his eyes, unwillingly walking the long, impersonal halls of their home on Kamino. It’s been years, and he still remembers every awful second of that day. “I’d never trained children as young as you before. I made mistakes. You adapted well, but the others struggled. Only half of you were ready to move on to the next stage, so you were the only ones I authorized. I did _not_ know they would kill the others _.”_

Cody says nothing.

Rex explodes. “How could you not know?” he demands.

Anakin joins in. “You said they didn’t have the right temperaments,” he accuses. “That you were keeping your options open.”

“They didn’t,” Jango agrees quickly. “And I was. But kriffing hells, I was training an _army_. I looked to the first batch of CCs to find the right match for Obi-Wan, yes, but I was never planning on having the rest of you _killed off_. What would be the _point_?”

“Banthashite,” Rex chokes. “They weren’t the first to be decommissioned. Or the last!”

“You really think I had any say over _how_ those shlebs conducted their kriffing experiments? You think I gave a single fuck what color your eyes were or if you had a lisp? I am _Mando’ade_. Heart is what makes a warrior, not body. I didn’t _care_. But they strive for perfection. I didn’t see it,” he’s never been able to admit as much to himself, let alone anyone else, but it’s true. Two hundred thousand boys to train and Boba to raise, and he’d missed it. “I wasn’t looking. And by the time I was, all I could do was train you harder.” He makes a point of catching Cody’s eye. Rex felt the trickle-down effect of Jango’s brutal methods, but Cody endured them first hand. He and the rest of his batch were watched the closest thanks to Jango’s careless assessment. “So yeah, I beat the shit out of you. I tortured you. I pushed you to your limits and right over the other kriffing side, and every time you got back up again you proved them wrong.”

Still, Cody says nothing. His face is carefully blank.

Beside him, Obi-Wan’s is anything but. “Why didn’t you come to me? Once you knew what they wanted, what it _meant_ , surely you didn’t hate us so much that...” he can’t finish, his voice breaking. Jango aches to hold him, to comfort him, but unlike the last time, he knows Obi-Wan won’t welcome him. He’s not even sure he’ll be allowed to beg for forgiveness. He doesn’t even know _how_.

“I did,” Jango insists. “The first chance I got. I had Boba to think about. When I wasn’t training the boys, I was raising him -” as though that wasn’t enough to shame him into silence “-I was monitored every time I left the planet. If they’d thought I’d betrayed them I would’ve lost access to him _and_ the boys.”

He’s not been able to look at his son for most of the conversation, but he does now and hopes he can convey just how much he loves him.

“It’s my fault?” Boba says, his voice small and slicing right through Jango’s armor to deliver a fatal blow to his heart.

“No, _ad’ika_ ,” Jango says, struggling to speak firmly around the lump in his throat. “The _only_ person to blame here is me. I’m just trying to explain what happened.”

“Let me guess,” Anakin says coldly, “the first chance you got to raise the alarm was when you tried to murder my wife?”

There’s no point even trying to deny it, but it simply underlines the fact that there’s not a person in the room Jango hasn’t hurt beyond forgiveness. “I was planning on sneaking into the Temple while my agent carried out the hit,” he admits. “Then you jumped out of a window and I had to improvise.”

“You led me on a merry chance,” Obi-Wan says softly.

“I knew you wouldn’t let it go. The mission, or me. Why do you think I fought you on Kamino? I needed to get Boba somewhere safe and I knew that once you found them you’d make sure the boys were protected.”

“Didn’t count on Dooku being a Sith Lord, I’m guessing,” Obi-Wan says sardonically.

“Yeah,” Jango sighs. “That complicated things.”

“Do you know who his master is?”

“Of course not,” Jango says urgently, stunned into motion. “I would never have kept that from you.”

“But you knew Dooku planned the war,” Obi-Wan points out.

“ _You_ knew he planned the war! I never lied to you about any of that, I swear.” He takes a step forward, no longer caring if it gets him shot. “I swear it, Obi-Wan.”

“Is there anything else?” Obi-Wan demands, not giving Jango the blessing of either trust or condemnation. “This is your last chance, Jango. Cards on the table. If I find out you’ve been keeping anything else from me I _will_ kill you.”

And there it is. Undeniable proof that there is no way back from what he’s done. The love that’s kept him warm in the coldest depths of space no longer exists.

Cody and Rex close ranks. Anakin, Boba at his side, moves to join them.

“ _Ori'haat,”_ Jango chokes. “I swear.”

For the longest moment, he doesn’t know what will happen next. All he can do is lose himself in the endless depths of Obi-Wan’s eyes and wait, hoping, hopeless...

Then Obi-Wan bows, as bland and impassive as any Jedi Master. “We thank you for your hospitality, _Mand’alor_ ,” he says, each impersonal word a staggering blow. “My men and I will take our leave and be out of your system within the hour.” He pauses, hesitates. “Boba, I would never dream of removing you from your father’s presence unwillingly, but since you are by law also my son, there is a place on my ship, should you wish it.”

Jango wants to protest, but can’t. He can’t even breathe.

“I want to stay with my brothers,” Boba says, squaring his chin stubbornly. He tries to glare at Jango, though can’t quite bring himself to do so without looking away.

For a split second, Jango thinks Obi-Wan looks grieved. It doesn’t last. “Very well. Commander?”

Cody, always at his side, always faithful, snaps to attention. “Come along, _vod’ika_ ,” he says kindly.

“Obi-Wan-” Jango finally finds his voice, even as he fears his knees will give out. “Please...what are you going to do?” Every petrified inch of his heart tells him that this is it, that he will never see his _riduur_ again. Not in this life.

Obi-Wan has already turned to leave, but he turns, his expression grim. “To do what you should’ve done years ago,” he says coldly, leaving Jango truly alone for the first time since they were chained together in that cage. “I am going to save our boys.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't think the 'Human Disaster Anakin' tag is relevant anymore. He and Boba might actually be the MVPs of this whole disaster. 
> 
> So maybe a better tag would be 'Dramatic AF Anakin', because yeah...
> 
> We're winding slowly into the final third of this story and absolutely everyone is going to do their best to tie my brain up in knots :D

Anakin feels the warning echoing through the Force moments before Obi-Wan’s knees give out. He’s already there. Already expecting it, and gets a hand under Obi-Wan’s elbow in time to hold him upright.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says bleakly. He curls his palm around Anakin’s elbow and holds on, steadying himself and letting Anakin help him keep his balance. It’s the closest they’ll get to an admission of weakness, but Anakin doesn’t have the heart to push for more.

What he wants to do - all he wants to do - is get his Master out of here. Away from Mandalore and all of its memories; away from Jango Fett and his many betrayals. Obi-Wan is drawing the Force inside himself, using it to bolster his energy and mobility, but where that power is usually joining a well of stamina and strength, there’s only a vacuum. The Force is keeping Obi-Wan upright and functioning, but with no foundation to sustain, what would normally be something he could continue indefinitely is now a rapidly closing window of consciousness. 

“Please, Anakin,” he says, his voice soft and muted through their bond. “Let me allow myself some illusion of dignity.”

Would it really be a bad thing if Anakin turned back around and knocked Jango’s teeth out?

He doesn’t think anyone will stop him: Rex might cheer.

Tremors run down Obi-Wan’s arms, his white-tipped fingers stiff and cold against Anakin’s skin, even as the first red flush of fever is creeping up his cheeks. Anakin _should_ just bundle him up and make a run for the Negotiator, but he can’t bring himself to take anything else from Obi-Wan right now. Anakin occupies a strange position in Obi-Wan’s mind, now outside the protective walls of his mental barriers, but still instrumental in solidifying their strength. He can feel the hurt and heartbreak echoing through them, and worse, he can feel Obi-Wan’s bone-deep shame. He might feel as though his dignity is in shreds before this small, core group of his family, but if Anakin can help him leave Mandalore on his own two feet, he will see it done.

He calls Ahsoka through their bond and finds her waiting on the landing strip with the rest of the Jedi entourage. Master Che takes one look at both of them before stepping silently to Obi-Wan’s other side. She slips her arm through his as though they are merely old friends together on a stroll, and floods him with healing strength.

Obi-Wan’s mortification is only spared fatality by the silent support his oldest friends immediately show him. They don’t know the details and they don’t care: he will always come first in their hearts.

Bant touches Anakin’s arm and gently eases into his place, helping Che support Obi-Wan as they make their way towards their transport.

Once Anakin might’ve resented the simple act, determined to prove his necessity in his Master’s life, but his belief and trust in Obi-Wan’s love for him has only solidified in its certainty since their time spent in the gardens of Obi-Wan’s mind. He doesn’t need to prove anything, and neither does Obi-Wan.

It means he can fall back and watch the others. Ahsoka gravitates towards Rex, the two of them a strange pair, but visibly settling in each other’s company. She eyes the three brothers with compassion, her mouth pulled down into the soft little frown of unhappiness she adopts when watching someone she cares for struggling or upset. Her presence is a balm to the ache of Anakin’s own mind, and simply watching her innate kindness fills him with a strange kind of warmth. It’s not quite the same thing he knows Obi-Wan feels for Anakin, but it has already grown the tender buds that, if nurtured, will blossom into something just as beautiful.

Having a padawan of his own is the chance for him to take all of the love his Master has for him and to pass it on to the next generation. It feels... it feels unimaginably fulfilling, getting to be part of such a legacy.

Knowing Ahsoka will watch out for Rex and Cody, and they in turn will take care of Boba, Anakin is able to take a moment just to try and process the magnitude of what has just happened.

And it is only a moment. As soon as he starts to unpick Jango’s various revelations and the intrinsic horror associated, Quinlan Vos falls into step beside him, his arms crossed over his chest.

Anakin likes Quinlan. Out of all of Obi-Wan’s friends, Vos will always be an asshole; Anakin never feels the same urge to impress him - for Vos to like him - that come with the likes of Bant and Garen. He’s also angry. A _lot_. It’s easy to sympathize with that. Force, at thirteen Anakin wanted to _be_ Quinlan Vos, something that had nearly given Obi-Wan fits of conniptions.

He makes a mental note not to let Vos and Ahsoka spend too much time together. 

“I saw what you saw,” Vos says to Anakin, his voice pitched too low for anyone else to hear. “I wanted to kill him for it then; tell me I’m not going to regret my inaction.”

For a second, Anakin frowns, confused, then Vos wiggles his gloved fingers. Psychometry, right. The least fun Force power out there. He wonders what Vos saw - how _much_ he saw - and wonders how he might’ve handled it himself back then.

“Vengence isn’t the Jedi way,” Anakin says, repeating one of the many lessons Obi-Wan circles back to. He only feels half the hypocrite he once might've. 

“No,” Vos agrees, “it’s not.” Something in his voice says that it doesn’t really matter. Vos is a Shadow. That actually seems to be the biggest point of contention between him and Obi-Wan; Vos will break the Code as and when it suits his mission. 

“It’s not _Obi-Wan’s_ way,” Anakin says instead, trying that route.

“Obi-Wan’s shit at knowing what’s good for him,” Vos grumbles.

Now that Anakin _can_ agree with. “If he needed to be dead I’d’ve done it already,” Anakin sighs. Force, he thinks _Obi-Wan_ might’ve done it already. If it turned out Jango has been working with the Sith - knowingly complicit in their plans...

Glaring mulliishly at a pair of Mando soldiers, Vos’s shoulders slump. “So how do I help? I’m not good at - at-” he waves a hand absently, “at the not stabbing stuff.”

By the looks of it, Cody has issued an emergency recall of all troops posted on the surface. There are fifty troopers all filing into Republic ships, all of them doing excellent jobs of not looking as curious as Anakin can tell they are feeling.

“Honesty?” he asks, following the small group of Jedi up the ramp and into their ship, “I have no kriffing clue.”

Vos swears in flawless Huttese and a small, shameful part of Anakin misses the time in his life where the lines were so clearly drawn in the sand. The slavers were the bad guys. The slaves were the good guys. There were no ambiguities, no extenuating circumstances, no excusable defenses. Right and wrong. Good and evil.

But Jango was right about one thing: they _are_ very alike. Anakin likes to think he’ll never lose the plot to the point of enslaving and torturing a few million people, nearly killing his spouse and playing an instrumental part in a galaxy-wide war, but he only has to remember Tatooine to know how hard it can be to see the Light when the Dark is just so much closer. Without Obi-Wan and Padmé, without Ahsoka and the millions of clones who depend on him, what kind of choices might he make?

“Be there? I guess? Don’t let him do that thing-”

“Where he gets all in his head and acts like a sanctimonious shithead?” Vos suggests.

“Yeah,” Anakin snorts, “that.”

He knows what Vos really means, and he fears it himself. It’s cold, being locked out of Obi-Wan’s warmth. And lonely. Obi-Wan doesn't even know he _does_ it, and he certainly doesn’t do it spitefully, but somehow that just makes it worse.

“Stop conspiring,” Obi-Wan says irritably as he eases down into his seat and straps in for the short journey through the atmosphere to the Negotiator waiting above. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Not even close,” Che says calmly.

“Then I am adequate.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Garen snorts, grunting when Bant elbows him in the ribs. It’s obviously an effort to lighten the mood, but it misses by several parsecs.

Obi-Wan rests his head against the back on his seat as Cody and Rex move past time towards the cockpit. “Come sit down, Boba,” he says kindly, gesturing to the seat beside him. “You can have Garen’s seat.” Boba doesn’t need telling twice. He climbs up and straps in and leans his arm against Obi-Wan’s. “You can change your mind,” Obi-Wan tells him. “No one will be angry with you if you want to stay. He’s your father.”

“He made me in a test tube,” Boba says, his chin stubborn and heard, but his eyes welling over. “Just like my brothers. He’s not my father, he's a blueprint.”

“He does love you, Boba,” Obi-Wan says achingly, “please don’t doubt that.” Anakin slides into his own seat just as they take off and bitterly resents the fact that he’s not flying.

“He loves you, too,” Boba points out with a scowl.

The weight of the galaxy seems to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “I suppose he does.”

For all that they are being considerate enough not to push for answers, Anakin can feel the curiosity radiating off Ahsoka. The others are doing a better job of hiding it, but at some point, they’ll need to be brought up to speed. When Obi-Wan is settled and resting.

And the Council will need to know. And the Senate, for all that it shouldn’t be any of their business.

Of all the people in the galaxy, why did Obi-Wan have to fall in love with _Jango Fett?_

The whole journey from Mandalore to the flight deck of the Negotiator takes less than ten minutes, but Obi-Wan is already starting to drift off by the time they dock.

Naps is waiting for them, a hoverchair and half of his core team along with him.

Anakin expects - they _all_ expect - Obi-Wan to put up some kind of resistance. Instead, he issues the order for Cody to evacuate the fleet from Mandalore and return to Coruscant and stays seated, physically unable to push his body any further.

“I’m going to make some calls,” Anakin says, leaning in close to put his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “But I’ll be down to Medical to see you soon.” Obi-Wan nods tiredly but doesn’t meet Anakin’s gaze. Stepping away, he beckons Ahsoka close. “Stick with Boba,” he tells her, “and stay on the bridge with Cody and Rex. I’ll join you soon.”

She nods. “Is Master Obi-Wan gonna be okay?”

“He'll be fine,” Anakin swears, “but we gotta look after him, okay? Like he looks after us.”

She nods, bouncing on her toes. “Sure thing, Skyguy, you can count on me!”

“I know I can, Snips. And I know we haven’t been able to spend much time training recently-”

“We’ve been busy!” She interrupts earnestly.

“I know,” Anakin can’t help but smile. “But still. I've been a pretty poor Master.”

Smiling with uncharacteristic shyness, Ahsoka bumps her arm against his. “I think you’re okay.”

“Thank you for that _ringing_ endorsement,” he snorts. “Go on. I’ll be up soon.”

He lets her nudge Boba along as the two of them follow Rex and Cody. Anakin needs to speak to both of them, but he knows Cody well enough to know that he’s taking comfort in the rigid protocols allowed to him in his rank, and he knows Rex enough not to mess with whatever coping technique Cody needs right now.

He also knows that _he’s_ not going to be any use to anyone unless he can get this, all of it, straight in his head. It’s frivolous, and he _shouldn’t_ need it, but he’s no longer going to cripple himself with guilt because he does.

Let Bant, Vos and Muln wait just a little bit long. Let the Council wait. He needs to get this right.

For the first time in his life, he truly understands the fragility of the people around him. Having all the power in the world won’t mean anything if he can’t learn how to be gentle. 

So he turns to the only person alive who can rival Obi-Wan’s kindness.

Sliding into the privacy and sanctity of his room, he reaches for his comm before the door even closes.

It’s early on Coruscant right now, but not so early Padmé won’t be awake.

A few moments later, she accepts his call. Her hair is already twisted into an elaborate design, thousands of black gems hidden among her curls, ready to catch the light and wink with a secret message of mourning. She can’t show official rites for Satine without causing an unneeded stir in the Senate, but Anakin knows her well enough to spot the signs. Her makeup, though incomplete, is dark and dramatic and the dark dress she is wearing will no doubt serve as the backdrop for an elaborately symbolic overlay. His absolute favorite mornings have been spent watching her dress for the day, helping with her hair and with fiddly laces, seeing her slip blasters between layers of silk and daggers amongst jewels.

The sight of her stills his soul into contentment.

“Ani!” Her dark eyes light up in delight. “I wasn’t expecting you to call until you left Mandalore. Is everything alright? Is Obi-Wan okay?”

“I love you,” he whispers, thinking of Obi-Wan, how desperately he loves Jango, and how unlikely he will ever be able to say those words to him again or hear them in return. “I love you so much.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I love you, too.” She knows. She knows something is wrong. He can see it in her eyes.

“I need your help.”

Her hand raises, her need to reach out and touch him mirrored in his own longing. “Tell me,” she encourages.

He takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

He meant what he said to Ahsoka; he wants to be the best Master to her that he can be. He also means to do the right thing, no matter how hard. The two are opposing paths, but he sees them clearly.

They are part of a lineage. She will learn from his mistakes, and he will learn from his Master’s. And he will learn from Qui-Gon’s.

Letting his decision sink into his bones, he straightens his shoulders and meets Padmé's worried gaze. “I’m going to resign from the Jedi Order.”


	46. Chapter 46

They’re twelve hours from Coruscant and fifty hours into what’s probably the longest period of enforced rest anyone has ever been able to force Obi-Wan to take. The presence of Vokara Che on board is being hailed as a blessing from on high by the beleaguered medical staff, who finally have someone on side who stands half a chance of forcing Obi-Wan to back down. Not, if reports are anything to go by, that the General has been anything other than a model patient.

Still, Rex likes Che. Anyone who can wrangle Obi-Wan is good in his book, and there’s the added benefit that Cody can’t pull any rank related banthashite on her the way he will with Naps or Kix. The result is a Cody who no longer looks like the walking dead. Rex can stop fielding worried questions from every _vod_ ranked above Sargent. There’s a measured ton of shit happening behind his eyes, but he’s slept, and Rex has long known Cody to be the most rational, level headed, _intellegent_ person in the GAR - so long as he’s had the bare minimum amount of shut eye.

Being away from Mandalore - and from Jango - isn’t a bad thing, either.

Everything is a disaster, relatively speaking, but the parts are at least separating themselves in a way that means they can _maybe_ start to reassemble something close to cohesion from the madness.

Obi-Wan has promised to fight for them, to save them, but since neither Rex nor any of his brothers can even start to imagine a reality outside of war, there’s no real sense of what ‘saving them’ might mean.

If not for the war - and Jango - none of them would exist. Even if everything changes tomorrow and they all retire and become _farmers_ or something, that circular reality will never change. Since he doesn’t know if he resents that, or how to start if he doesn’t, or stop if he _does_ , or much of anything at all, he’s simply decided he doesn’t actually care.

Or that he’s going to _try_ not to care at least.

He’s a simple man. Give him his _vode_ , a gun, and some clankers to kill, and he’s happy.

He’d be a _terrible_ farmer.

If the Jedi want to tangle themselves in knots to change things, let them. Until then, Rex has other priorities. 

This morning, it's to stop Waxer, Boil, Fives, and Echo from helping Boba build ‘an unspecified incendiary device’ in a repurposed cooler unit.

Now, it’s stopping Cody from launching Anakin headfirst into the closest star.

“Run that past us again, sir?” Cody says, visibly fighting the urge to pinch his nose. They’re huddled around the large round table in the briefing room, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan on one side, Cody and Rex on the other. Obi-Wan has his hands wrapped around a mug of tea and is listening calmly. Not for the first time, Rex would like to find a way to bottle that calm and start handing it out through the ranks. It's not natural, but it's damn enviable.

Leaning over the table, his hands braced on the edges, Anakin looks each of them in the eye before continuing. “I said I have a plan to lure the Sith Master out of hiding.”

“I think they got that part, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says mildly, a hint of wry amusement in his expression. “I imagine it’s the bit that followed that’s causing some confusion.”

“The bit where you leave us,” Ahsoka says. She, at least, seems to be on Rex and Cody’s side of the confusion.

“Who said anything about leaving you?” Anakin frowns.

Maybe Rex _should_ let Cody throw him out of an airlock? Ahsoka looks like she’s ready to help.

“How is you resigning from the Order _not_ leaving?” she challenges. “That sounds a lot like leaving.”

In fairness to Anakin, a lot has changed since the last time they were around this table. Before, he might ask their advice on matters, but ultimately he’d lay down his plans and they’d have minutes to get on board before the topic progressed to the next stage. This, _insane_ though it is, is at least a step in the right direction. Maybe?

“It is,” Anakin admits, “and it’s not.”

“That makes sense,” Ahsoka grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Let him finish, padawan,” Obi-Wan admonishes her gently. Rex wonders if he knows something they don’t.

Chastised, Ahsoka looks down at her lap. “Sorry Master,” she says.

“I’m explaining it badly,” Anakin sighs. “But I was thinking-”

“Careful there,” Obi-Wan chuckles, drawing an unimpressed scowl from Anakin.

“I was _thinking_ about what Jango said, and about Dooku. If the Sith’s whole plan hinges on the Jedi being complicit in the war then we need to end it.”

“No disagreement there, sir,” Cody shakes his head, “but if Dooku is part of that plan then the entire CiS leadership is compromised; they won’t open negotiations.”

“And we can’t force a victory without playing right into their hands,” Obi-Wan agrees heavily.

Anakin nods. “Exactly. We can’t win if we keep playing by their rules. So we have to shake things up.”

“How does you leaving the Jedi help with that?” Ahsoka frowns. “No offense, Master, but the war can continue without any one of us.”

“It can,” Anakin agrees, “and to everyone outside this room, it must. We have to draw the Sith out of hiding and into the public eye. Since we don’t know who the Master is, our only lead is Dooku. We need to get close to him.”

Obi-Wan sets his mug down on the table. “This is where we differ in opinion, Anakin. In case you have forgotten, Dooku is hardly fond of you. I don’t see him coming to trust any deception. I, at least, could leverage his memory of Qui-Gon against him.”

It takes Rex a second to realize that Obi-Wan is proposing using _himself_ as bait and even less time for Cody to go completely rigid beside him.

“I thought about that,” Anakin admits, looking mildly apologetic, “about maybe using all of the stuff with Jango and Mandalore as a smokescreen. Dooku _wants_ you to join him, but I think he only wants it because he knows you won’t. Keeping you as someone who can offer him a way back to the Light is gonna be far more useful than trying to convince him you’ve turned to the Dark.”

Obi-Wan runs a thoughtful hand over the short stubble that’s finally growing back into his familiar beard. “Whereas you have a reputation for recklessness,” he says slowly, nodding in agreement.

Anakin leans back and claps his hands behind his back. “We both know I’m a more convincing villain,” he says grimly. “If I tell him about Tatooine, about Padmé...”

“You _can_ use Jango and Mandalore as an excuse,” Obi-Wan adds, any personal grief locked firmly away behind the famous facade of the Negotiator. “You were punished for breaking the Code while I was encouraged, my attachment to Jango overlooked in favor of scoring political points with a system that might very well have chosen an alliance with the Confederacy had I not interfered. Dooku does like to hark on about hypocrisy.”

“That’s not what happened,” Cody cuts in firmly.

Obi-Wan flashes him a gentle smile but cocks his head in that infuriating way of his. “Isn’t it? Either way, it is rooted in enough truth for Dooku to believe.”

“Okay,” Ahsoka says slowly, “so what you’re basically proposing is to go _undercover_ with a Sith Lord, and then what? How does you 'turning' to the Dark Side end the war?” She makes irritated air quotes with her fingers.

The sudden flash of a smirk on Anakin’s face is the closest thing to normalcy Rex has seen in months. “Well, I mean... I am the most dashing and handsome and respect-” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I’m the most dashing and handsome,” Anakin course corrects easily, “so I’d imagine morale would _plummet_ -”

Rex’s eye-roll has to be audible, surely? “That’s still not a victory.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Obi-Wan says.

“There’s no way Dooku would let you close enough to send back classified information,” Cody points out. “Or that he’d let you even attempt to make contact with us.”

“He doesn’t have to let me do anything,” Anakin grins. “If I know it, Obi-Wan knows it.”

“You might end up on opposite ends of the galaxy!” Ahsoka cries.

“We would need to test the strength of our renewed bond,” Obi-Wan agrees, “but the plan has merits.”

“I get close to Dooku,” Anakin nods, “and if I can’t use him to gain access to his Master, I either capture or kill him. Either way, we take him out of play and we can push for peace talks. Without any Sith influence, there’s no way you can’t convince them to sign a temporary ceasefire, Obi-Wan.”

“Your confidence is warming, Anakin,” Obi-Wan smiles at him, “but I think, perhaps, it is best I sit that particular conversation out. My relationship with Jango, aside from highlighting gross misconduct on my behalf, would only muddy the waters. Besides, you’re going to need a pretty spectacular calling card if you’re planning on convincing Dooku you’ve turned. I suppose you’ve spoken to Padmé? The public revelation of your marriage is one thing, but if you defect... ”

It will potentially throw into jeopardy everything she has spent her whole career working for.

Anakin drags his hand over his face. “I know. And I wouldn’t be suggesting it if she wasn’t willing to take that risk.”

Privately, Rex thinks that he wouldn’t even _have_ to if she wouldn’t. From what little he knows of Anakin’s wife, her compassion and commitment to justice and equality shames half the galaxy.

“She understands what’s at risk?” Obi-Wan pushes. “You are not short of enemies, Anakin, nor are the Jedi.”

“People have been trying to kill her since she was fourteen,” Anakin says, his expression torn between anger and admiration. “Honestly, I think she’s mad it’s taken me this long to even think of it.”

“That does sound like Padmé,” Obi-Wan chuckles. “Very well. I will let you propose this mission to the Council and should I still have a seat, I will throw my support behind it.”

“Okay, one, you still have a seat, don’t be ridiculous,” Anakin scoffs. It doesn’t escape Rex’s attention that it’s not the first time Obi-Wan has made implications towards his position within the Jedi. They won’t seriously hold him responsible for Jango, will they? “And two, I was thinking that we keep it to ourselves...”

“The Council must know, Anakin. Unless you want the likes of Quinlan hunting you down for added entertainment? You are a General, and the Senate will almost certainly demand the Jedi neutralize any threat you might pose once you defect.”

“Ah,” Anakin grimaces. “Fair point. So us, and the Council, and Padmé.”

“You don’t want to tell the Chancellor?” Obi-Wan looks surprised.

“I don’t think he’d agree?” Anakin shrugs. “Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, right?”

“You mean like the entirety of your apprenticeship?” Obi-Wan shakes his head, soft with amusement. “Perhaps you’re right. Very well, I will call for a closed session of the Council. Cody, Rex, do you have any input you’d like to make?”

“I think you’re insane, General,” Cody says, very reasonably. “Dooku will make you prove yourself, you know that. Are you willing to kill civilians? Your own men?” There’s nothing accusatory in Cody’s voice, but somewhere deeply buried is the man changed by all that has happened with Jango. Before, Cody might’ve screamed internally at the idea of losing _vode_ to Anakin’s friendly fire, but he would never have raised the issue, not with so much at stake.

“I’m gonna do everything I can to avoid that,” Anakin swears. He seems to understand the significance of Cody asking more than Rex is expecting him to.

“And that,” Obi-Wan interjects, “is where I come in.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Cody sighs heavily.

Obi-Wan reaches over and pats him gently on the arm. “Actually, you might.”

“From what?” Ahsoka demands. “You are not allowed to get kidnapped again! Even by Anakin! _Especially_ by Anakin!”

“I suppose I have been a frightful worry, haven’t I?” Obi-Wan muses, prompting Rex to consider throwing _him_ out of an airlock instead of Anakin. “I am sorry about that. But no, no kidnapping.”

“Then what?” Rex asks, almost afraid of the answer.

“How do you integrate yourself with a Sith?” Obi-Wan asks, a devilish glint to his eyes that’s long been missing. “Why, you beat them at their own game of course.”

“Obi-Wan...” Anakin warns.

“A Sith apprentice can only advance one way,” Obi-Wan says reasonably. “If you want Dooku to take you seriously, there is but one path you can take.”

“I was afraid you were gonna say that,” Anakin looks resigned, but he's not arguing.

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitches into a smile. “It’s _your_ plan,” he points out.

The suspense is killing us,” Rex says flatly.

“If I’m going to prove myself a worthy apprentice to Dooku,” Anakin says, noddingly slowly as he comes around to the idea. “I’m going to have to kill my first Master.”

Both of them. Rex is throwing _both_ of them out of an airlock.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan agrees, _smiling_ like the absolute lunatic he is. “And I suggest you make my murder as public as possible.”


	47. Chapter 47

They say the best plans never survive first contact with the enemy. Since this plan is flawed at best and downright disastrous at worst, Jango doesn’t really hold out much hope that he’s going to survive the battle. There’s a not so insignificant part of him that is holding out hope for a dignified, honorable end, but honor is rarely the byword of a politician; in reality, they’re probably gonna make as much a mess of him as they eat him alive as they will when they shit him out the other end.

Thus, his plan.

“You seriously canceled your session with Parliament to drink that?” There’s something in the Kryze blood that makes their aristocratic disdain particularly brutal and Bo Katan is nothing if not her parent’s daughter.

The ‘that’ in question is a bottle of _gal_ , unearthed from a dark and dusty corner of Slave I and kept for the very specific purpose of obliterating his brain cells. It’s an unappetizing murky green color and tastest like _Kaduu_ piss but it’s kriffing effective.

“No,” he drawls, trying and failing to lift his head off his desk, “jus’ gonna stare at it.”

There are too many people in his office and Jango is including himself in that number. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be...

Well, he wants to be back in that uncomfortable as fuck bunk on the Negotiator, his _riduur_ in his arms. Or in a fucking cage on Concordia, back at a time when Obi-Wan was wary of him but didn’t hate him.

That’s it, isn’t it? Obi-Wan hates him. And okay yes, logically, he knew it was coming, he _knows_ he deserves it, but... but what kind of a monster is he that he’s turned _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ to hate? Obi-Wan plays cards with three _different_ people who have tried to kill him - that Jango knows of. He doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body; he probably doesn’t even hate Maul...and yet he hates Jango so much that he doesn’t trust him with his own son.

And why should he? One success story out of two hundred thousand...out of four _million_ is hardly a ringing fucking endorsement, is it? It proves Boba is the exception, not the rule.

Jango wasn’t even there to soothe his son’s nightmares, too busy with Mandalore and a title he doesn’t deserve. Kriff, he left the boy unsupervised in the middle of a war and didn’t even know he’d been _kidnapped_.

Of course Boba is safer with Obi-Wan. And maybe if Obi-Wan had just demanded custody, something that’s his right by law, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

But Boba wanted to leave.

He wanted to leave, and the fact that Jango is even hung up on _that_ instead of the incalculable harm he’s inflicted on his family... well, it says everything about him, doesn’t it?

Bo Katan snatches the bottle in his hand and throws it to Irre Diss, whose expression of disgust is, thankfully, hidden behind her _buy’ce._ “You are a pathetic excuse for a man, Fett,” Bo Katan shakes her head scornfully. “My sister died for _this_?”

Drunk Jango wants to point out that she has no room to judge him for any of his life choices, what with joining a murder cult and taking part in the assassination of her own sister. Drunk Jango thinks that if he says that, she will either shoot him outright or challenge him to a fight, both of which seem like an excellent way to spend the rest of the day. 

Drunk Jango opens his mouth, only for his brain to replicate a picture-perfect memory of Obi-Wan’s disapproving frown and project it on to the blank space beside Bo Katan’s head.

“Isn’t this what got you in the shit in the first place?” she demands, gesturing at the bottle Irre is holding... and the three empty ones on the floor by his desk.

The Conversation, or The End of Jango’s Life, was an entirely private one, between only himself and his family, so naturally, Bo Katan and the entire palace know about it. Depending on who you ask, it’s either very romantic or very stupid, but either way, it’s _very_ Mandalorian. Likewise, Obi-Wan is either a no-good _jetii_ bastard who isn’t worth the effort Jango has put into their relationship, or he’s a betrayed spouse who has every legal right to cut Jango’s balls off and feed them to him. The fact that his marriage perfectly encapsulates the stark disparity between opposing _Mando’ade_ ideologies might be funny if not for being so sickening.

Raising an unsteady arm with the intention of pointing out his opposing opinion, Jango finally unsticks his face from the desk. “Nope,” he says, letting the word pop, “what got me into this shit...” his vision blurs and Obi-Wan’s disapproval melts into the sunny warmth of his smile, young and bright and utterly unaware of the damage he inflicts every time he touches Jango with kindness. “Was not killing him when I had the chance. If I’d...if I’d _just_...”

But no. He can’t imagine a world where he killed Obi-Wan back then. He can only imagine a world where he never left the plains of Galidraan at all.

“So kill him, _Alor_ ,” Irre says flatly. “Or don’t. Parliament will seek your opinion either way. Until then, your next appointment is waiting outside. And it's too late to cancel this one.”

“You’ve either done something very right or very wrong to have Kagg Bass’s interest already,” Bo Katan snorts. “I can’t remember the last time the old wretch willingly involved himself in politics.”

Jango, caught between trying to think up an excuse to lock himself away for the rest of the decade and actually sitting upright in his chair manages neither, instead almost falling out of his seat entirely, only to be caught by Irre. “Bass is here?”

“Outside,” Irre agrees, politely sitting him back upright. “Apparently he’s had the appointment scheduled for three weeks, despite you only being _Manda’alor_ for two of them.”

“He had a meeting with Satine,” Jango smacks himself in the side of the head in an attempt to shake away the cobwebs - and the image of Obi-Wan’s beloved smile. It’s not as effective as he hopes. “She was doing me a favor before...” it seems eons ago since he first called Satine from the Negotiator, since they rescued Obi-Wan from Ventress. So much has happened...

“What favor would my sister possibly do you?” Bo Katan frowns. “Last I checked, you hated each other.”

“Strongly disliked,” Jango corrects. He tries to straighten his tunic and wonders where the hell the monstrosity of a circlet his advisors are insisting he wears has rolled to during his impromptu day drinking session.

He winces when Irre dumps it none too gently onto his head but manages a shaky smile of gratitude. “I look respectable?” He asks her and not Bo Katan. Irre has to be nice to him. Or at least lie to him.

“You look like you’ve spent the last week trying to drink yourself to death,” Bo Katan cuts in anyway.

“Perfect,” Jango nods, summoning the kind of focus he pulls on in battle. And this is a battle of sorts, just not in an arena he has any expertise in. “Show him in.”

“I’m not your assistant.”

“Show him in or I’ll reassign you to parliamentary liaison,” Jango channels every curve of Obi-Wan’s most passive-aggressive smile and focuses it on her.

Bo Katan’s lips thin, but she at least looks more amused than disgusted. It’s progress. “ _Alor_ ,” she bows her head and does as commanded.

Kagg Bass is every bit the old wretch Bo Katan described him as; his hair - what’s left of it - is a shock of wiry white curls and he wears every day of his hundred-plus years etched into the lines of his face. He’s not visibly aged since Jango remembers seeing him last, the day of his official adoption into Jaster’s clan. Bass has never been a warrior, but like all who grew up under the old laws, he knows his way around a blaster. It’s not those skills Jango needs him for, though.

“ _Mand’alor_.” As Jango’s subject, he bows first, his deep voice all but creaking with the same wear as his joints. As a venerable and honored elder, Jango returns the gesture. It’s not as deep a bow, but it’s no less significant.

See, Obi-Wan? He has manners. He’s not a total mons-

Jango holds out an open hand towards the seat opposite his own - the one furthest from the shameful carcasses of his drinking - and thanks Bass for coming.

“I would’ve sought you out sooner,” Bass says, “but the task set on behalf by Duchess Satine has been no easy venture.”

“Whatever you have found,” Jango says earnestly, paying no attention to Irre or Bo Katan, who take their respective places on either side of his chair, “I would hear it.”

“We studied the contract you sent,” Bass muses, reaching up to scratch at a single hair sprouting from his chin, “and it’s most certainly _beskar_ clad.”

“Even though I was drunk when Dooku found me?” That’s not what Jango wants to hear and it’s a struggle to control his disappointment.

“You were sober and fully capable of giving consent when you signed the contract,” Bass shakes his head, “your blood tag proves as much. However-” Jango’s heartbeat spikes in hope, “while the contract itself leaves little room for contestation - I truly applaud the Kaminoan’s legal outfit, I do - there are grounds upon which we can petition to have it rendered entirely null and void.”

“How?” Jango leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. He’s sobering up quickly - or as close to it as he’s been in a while - but the world is still cruelly unsteady around him.

“If we can prove in some way that the products of your contract with Kamino - your clones - are sentient lifeforms as classified by the Grand Republic Chater of 1410-”

“They are,” Jango says in a rush, “we can.”

Bass is polite enough not to scold him for interrupting - or maybe he can just get away with that now he’s _Mand’alor_ , he doesn’t know.

“And _if_ we can prove that they were commissioned for the exact purpose of providing the Republic with an army, then the Senate would be in breach of its own anti-slavery laws.”

“What does that mean?” It’s bad, right? It sounds bad. For _them_.

He’s afraid to get his hopes up.

“Four options,” Bass says, sounding pleased, kriff, sounding _excited_. “One, we petition for the Senate to immediately and without exception release all clones serving, in reserve, or in training to serve in the Grand Army of the Republic. At which point they would be able to sue for damages. While minimal in bloodshed, this would leave you open to class action suits.”

“I don’t care,” Jango shakes his head. “They have every right-”

“To sue you, Jango Fett, yes, however in your current role as _Mand’alor_ I must strongly advise against this. In fact, in _my_ role as your Royal Counsel, I would expressly petition against this line of action. You cannot bankrupt the system paying reparations and this is likely what would happen.”

“Right. Okay.” The immature part of him has no problem with that, but he’s responsible for billions of lives now, not just the four million he had a hand in creating. “Plan B?”

“Again, we petition for the Senate to immediately and without exception release all clones, but with the stipulation that they are legally named your wards. My team are investigating this option further - but whether we go down the line of claiming them all to legally be under the age of majority or more specifically naming them as your genetic property would depend on what avenues their modifications left us. As well as a number of other legalities that would need clarification.”

“They could drag that out in the courts for years,” Jango shakes his head. “They could still make the boys fight.”

“Legally, no, but in practicality? There is every probability, yes.”

“Wouldn’t they just mutiny?” Bo Katan exclaims. “If it’s proven the Senate has no legal right to _enslave_ them?”

“They’re trained - conditioned - to be obedient,” Jango shakes his head. “And it’s the only life they know. Some might, but the majority probably wouldn’t know how to start.”

“A third option is that we demand the Senate recognize each clone as a legal citizen of the Republic, with full legal, financial, and medical benefits in line with their rank and GAR regulations. This is the option I believe is most likely to succeed in the shortest timeframe.”

“That’s surely the best plan,” Bo Katan looks at Jango and frowns.

In theory, she’s right, but... “They’d still be fighting in the war,” he sighs. “It’s not suddenly just cutting them all adrift, but is it really giving them the choice? I fear too many in the Senate would seek to take advantage of their vulnerabilities to pressure them into further military service.” That’s Jango’s fault, he knows, he’s fostered that dependency on rules and structure, forced them to find safety in the routine and relative normalcy of military life. Without the proper systems of support in place, what hope do the boys have of escaping that?

“Surely that would fall under the remit of the _jetii_?” Bo Katan points out. “They love a good cause, and they already have vested interest in their men. Can they not be counted upon for support?”

Jango wants to say yes. He _does_ , and he thinks if it were up to Obi-Wan alone...maybe _not_ even just Obi-Wan... “The _jetii_ are under the jurisdiction of the Senate. So long as the Republic is at war, they’re never going to be allowed to interfere.” And while the Sith remain unchecked, they won’t have any other option but to go where their leash to the Senate is pulled.

“That leads us to our fourth option,” Bass says, sitting up straighter, a hint of that warrior in his blue eyes.

“Mandalore joins the war,” Bo Katan nods her head.

“Strike a deal with the Senate,” Bass nods. “Offer them our aid in defeating their enemies in return for the lives of your clones.”

“They would never agree to it,” Jango shakes his head. He knows there has to be a Sith in the Senate working alongside Dooku, how else would the _jetii_ have been dragged into the conflict?

“Then we issue them with _tor’akaan,”_ Bass says.

Jango feels himself freeze in his seat. “Can we do that? Legally?”

“By definition, a _tor’akaan_ can only be issued as a response to an act or event of provocation. It must be a direct threat to _Manda'yaim_. You made a legal claim to two clones during a Challenge of Combat. This sets a precedent. They become _Mando’ade_. The Republic, should they refuse to free them, have issued provocation. I can argue that case to Parliament solely on the two present during the Challenge. Should you claim all of them, you’ll find no shortage of ire raised on your behalf. ”

“It seems counterproductive to go to war against the very army we are trying to free.”

“There may be no need for loss of life,” Bass frowns. “You say you fear the Senate will force them into further service, but if you physically present them with another option then we might get that mutiny after all. It will certainly sway the _jetii_ to reconsider their priorities.”

“The issue is getting the fleet close enough to make that impact,” Bo Katan reminds them.

“That won’t be a problem,” Jango shakes his head. Add the knowledge he’s gained at Obi-Wan’s side to the list of sins he must atone for. “I’ve been _Mand’alor_ barely long enough for the moons to cast a full shadow over Sundari,” Jango says slowly, “can I really lead our people into a war? Even if every single one of the boys defects, the GAR is not without soldiers.”

“You underestimate us, _Alor_ ,” Irre speaks up quietly. “ _Mando’ade_ will always uphold the _Resol'nare_.”

Jango leans back and takes a long, slow breath before turning to Bo Katan. “How soon can we be ready for an attack?”

Her smile is cool, sharp, and almost comforting. “Forty-eight hours,” she says without hesitation.

He nods. “Summon the _ori'ramikad,”_ he orders her. “And my advisors. I want all our options in twelve hours. I will address Parliament in thirteen.”

She snaps her heels and bows. “ _Alor_!”

To Bass, he says, “Issue our demand to the Senate. They either ally themselves with us and free the boys, or they find themselves with yet another enemy at their door” he announces. “Tell them they have seven days.”

“We’ll be there in six,” Bo Katan points out.

Grimly, Jango wonders if he’s going to see Obi-Wan again after all - on opposite sides of the battlefield.

“Then they’ll have a good incentive, won’t they?”


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is now on a pendulum of 'human disaster' to 'mature and rational dude' that swings from one extreme to the other, depending on who he is with. Needless to say, Palpatine isn't going to bring out the best in him, even if he's trying really, really hard!

The warm, grandfatherly smile of Chancellor Palpatine is a familiar one, even as he delivers a gentle rebuke. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me, Anakin,” he says mildly.

Obi-Wan’s presence is warm in the back of Anakin’s mind, even as they sit in two very different chambers. The brewing spike of a headache tells him that Obi-Wan’s meeting with the Council is going about as well as they expected it might. Anakin's not angry at his exclusion; he knows there are things Obi-Wan needs to discuss with the Council before they even touch on Anakin’s proposal, but he would like to be there for moral support. He settles for sending encouragement down their bond instead. He’s due to join them in three hours to present their plans. In the meantime, he’s killing two birds with one stone.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor,” Anakin says honestly. “I didn’t mean to shut you out, it’s just been...” he’s missed his old friend’s wisdom and guidance, but the past few months have led him down so many paths, none of which he’s wanted to share with anyone - even Padmé to some extent - until clearing them in his own head. He's not sure he's any further down those paths, but his latest session with the Soul Healer has led him to a report of 'promising progression', so maybe he's not doing so bad?

“A trying time for you,” Palpatine agrees sympathetically. “I understand, of course. I did expect you to seek me out after the unfortunate events on Jabiim. Not that I’m not thrilled Master Kenobi is still with us, but I would've liked to offer you more comfort in your time of grief.”

“It was hard,” Anakin admits, “thinking he was dead. It wasn’t personal, sir, honestly. I didn’t know _how_ to talk about anything.”

“Ah well,” Palpatine smiles, raising a glass of sparkling fruit juice - a personal vice he’s often allowed Anakin to indulge in - and indicating a second glass. “A happy resolution, at least. Although I must admit to some trepidation over his renewed relationship with Jango Fett. Perhaps you can explain it to me, dear boy, but is that not the very thing you said the Council would expel you for doing with our beloved Padmé? I’d accuse Master Kenobi of being many things, but hypocritical would not be one of them.”

A soft swell of affection for the Chancellor rises in Anakin’s heart. He is lucky, truly, to have such a friend. He’s been blind, in the past, not to see how blessed he truly is. Not just with Palpatine, but with Obi-Wan and even the Council. So many people fighting for him, believing in him, supporting him. The loneliness and isolation that once plagued him seem so _unnecessary_ now.

Still. For all that he longs to share his new understanding and perspective, missing Palpatine’s company is only one reason for him being here _now_.

Whether the Council approves Anakin’s plan or not, Palpatine is the one person outside of Padmé who truly understands all the struggles and conflicts that have seasoned Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship. In many ways, Palpatine is privy to far more than Padmé. Anakin has spent many afternoons sitting in this exact same chair, airing his grievances with his friend. The Chancellor knows all too well Anakin’s struggle with the Code, with the Council, with _Obi-Wan_. He’s always been ready with a kind word of support and a sympathetic ear, no doubt learning more of Jedi traditions from Anakin’s frustrated retellings than any first-hand experience.

Someday soon, when the war is done, Anakin will rejoice in sharing his new contentment with his friend, but for now, as underhanded as it might be...

If anyone is going to believe Anakin capable of _murdering_ his Master, it’s going to be the only man alive who knows both Anakin’s adolescent grievances and his crimes on Tatooine.

He just has to try and not feel so _guilty_ about lying to him.

“Hypocrite,” Anakin growls, fighting not to let out a snort of laughter when Obi-Wan thinks something graphically unflattering about Master Saesee Tiin. “Coward. Add traitor to the list.” He winces. Okay, that might be a bit much. “Sorry, sir.”

Palpatine leans back into his chair, his eyes wide. “Goodness. It almost sounds as though you’re not happy he survived Jabiim.”

“Thinking he was dead was hard. It hurt, knowing I’d never get closure. But having him back? I can’t... he berated me _so often_ for attachment, practically told me it was the path to the Dark Side, and all this time... it's hard not to feel some resentment for that.”

“You’ve always said that he’s never trusted you,” Palpatine looks sad for him. He always does when Anakin rants about Obi-Wan. He wants Anakin to have the kind of relationship with Obi-Wan that he might once have had with Qui-Gon. He’s admitted as much more than once. Anakin, young and stupid, used to say the same. Now, he can only wonder if he’s _lucky_ he ended up with Obi-Wan. Sure, he’s unconventional, but there has never been a more inspirational example of selfless love, he’s sure of it.

“Jango Fett knows more about him than I do,” Anakin snarls. It’s true, and that’s to his own shame, he knows it. “What does it say about him that he’d lay with that... that... _that_...” he still doesn’t have the words to adequately describe Jango and everything he’s done. There’s a very small part of him that pities Jango, that even sympathizes with him, but _Force_... “And Fett has the _nerve_ to call himself my father.”

“Yes,” the Chancellor frowns, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

Anakin slumps back in his head. He’s never realized how exhausting it is to hold on to anger - even affecting it, even just brushing against its shadow - and he’s glad of the chance to let the facade of hatred towards Obi-Wan drop in order to focus on a more deserving candidate. “Turns out Obi-Wan is basically _Mando’ade_. Legally speaking, at least. And he kinda adopted me? And since he’s married to Jango, that makes Jango my father.”

“Fascinating,” Palpatine muses. “A little predatory, perhaps, but I suppose there’s nothing wrong with being heir to an entire system of planets.”

That makes Anakin startle. “Boba’s his heir.”

“Last I checked, you are a number of years the child’s elder. The right of succession is yours to claim. Should you chose to.”

It takes Anakin all of three seconds to conclude that he’d be a _terrible_ ruler. Force, he can barely look after Ahsoka half the time, and keeping track of her is probably going to send him to an early grave. The idea of being responsible for billions of people - billions of well-armed, kinda trigger-happy people - is downright _terrifying_. “Oh,” he says, making a mental note to scream at Obi-Wan about it the first chance he gets. If he divorces Fett, Anakin’s off the hook, right? Or not?

Padmé. Padmé will know what to do. She will never let Anakin do anything as irresponsible as rule a kriffing planet. She _has_ ruled a planet; she has to know how massively unqualified he would be. It's one thing to be a General in a war, but a planet? Several planets? No thank you.

And let’s face it, Obi-Wan will just laugh at him. Actually - amusement tumbles down their bond, followed, reluctantly, by reassurance. Anakin rejoices in the openness than now exists between then, and promptly suggests Obi-Wan go choke on some tealeaves.

“It is what Count Dooku did, of course,” Palpatine is continuing. Anakin forces himself to pay attention.

“Dooku is a traitor,” Anakin says, aware that the word is delivered with far more disgust than it was when in association with Obi-Wan. “He turned from the Jedi for _greed_.”

“I’m sure his intentions were honorable, once upon a time,” The Chancellor says kindly. “He wasn’t always a monster, Anakin. Once, he wanted only as you do: to help those most in need of it.”

Anakin _highly_ doubts that. He also doubts that Dooku picked _Jango_ by coincidence. He’s tried to turn Obi-Wan to the Dark Side before, which is kinda hilarious, but dangling a man he _loves_ as an incentive is exactly the kind of slimy, shleb like behavior they’ve come to expect from Dooku.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Anakin shrugs. “Fett will live forever out of spite and if he doesn’t he’s got a few million replacements to step in for him.”

“Do try not to think unkindly of your former Master, Anakin. We cannot blame him for being naively taken in by Fett’s manipulations. We did discuss this, if you remember? We were both worried for him then, and he has done nothing if not double down on our causes for concern. Fett used him to regain control of Mandalore, that much seems clear now.” Anakin feels himself nodding along out of force of habit. “Perhaps it might be best for all parties concerned if Master Kenobi takes a leave of absence? Ah -” he holds a hand up when Anakin starts to protest “-don’t interrupt, dear boy, I speak only out of concern for him. I’ve read the mission reports from Mandalore, and by all accounts, it has been a trying and traumatic time for the poor man. I would be remiss in my duty not to raise the subject with the Council, both for his own well being and that of the army. War asks much of all of us, none more than those of you on the front, but is it truly fair to expect a man undergoing such turmoil to shoulder the weight and responsibility that he does?”

Anakin _wants_ to defend Obi-Wan, and point out that even as royally kriffed as he is right now, he’s still by far the best military strategist they have, but it doesn’t serve the greater purpose to do so.

He nods thoughtfully, then gently tightens his own mental barriers. Not to keep a secret from Obi-Wan, but because he honestly needs advice from someone more experienced than Anakin.

“Sir, can I ask you something? In confidence?”

Palpatine leans forward, his elbows on his desk. “Dear boy, that you feel the need to ask me this still pains me. You know I only have your best interests at heart, surely?”

Anakin flushes, embarrassed. He still sucks at this whole ‘people’ business. Droids are so much easier to understand. Even C3-PO. “I know, I do, I’m sorry, that’s not what I mean.”

“Tell me, Anakin,” the Chancellor looks pained. “Let me help you.”

He’s talked about Obi-Wan to the Chancellor many times in the past, so it’s a bitter irony that the one time he really has any justifiable reason to do so - at least one that’s not a product of his own screwed up self-esteem - is the one time he feels the most guilty about doing so.

A part of him thinks he should ask Mace, or kriff, even Yoda, but he knows word would get back to Obi-Wan somehow and his Master would be mortified. As far as Anakin knows, the only person alive who knows anything much about Obi-Wan’s early years with Jango is Vos, and... well, just no. The man has less tact than Anakin; asking him this kind of question will only end in property damage.

“If...” okay, how to even start to explain this? “If someone hurts you. Badly. I mean _really_ badly. Like, almost kills you hurts you. And more than once. Is it _ever_ okay to fall in love with that person? I mean, is it...” he doesn’t actually know what he’s asking, only that Palpatine’s succinct description of Jango manipulating Obi-Wan for his own ends strikes too sharply against the memory of his Master at eighteen, _brutalized_ by the man he now claims to love.

And he knows Jango loves Obi-Wan. Or at least things he does.

And he knows Qui-Gon never set out to _harm_ Obi-Wan any more than Anakin did.

No. No, he set out with even less intent than Anakin has once had. He’s hurt Obi-Wan on purpose many times, if not physically then emotionally.

And Obi-Wan _loves_ all three of them. Which is the Jedi way; to forgive. But Obi-Wan is the only Jedi he knows who doesn’t seem to _learn_ , and who constantly puts himself back in line for further hurt.

So... so maybe Palpatine was right all those weeks ago? Obi-Wan _doesn’t_ understand what love _should_ look like, and merely accepts what he thinks he deserves?

Every time he goes back and forth on what he knows and what he _thinks_ he knows, he’s reminded of Obi-Wan’s swollen and bruised eyes face, and of holding him in his arms as he weeps.

Palpatine blinks slowly. “I am to assume you are not speaking of young Padmé?” he says carefully. Anakin shakes his head, nauseous at the mere idea. “I see.” He takes a moment, then continues. “You told me you believed Fett might attempt to coerce Master Kenobi into physical relations he did not desire. Are you saying you believe that to be true?”

“I-” Yes? No? Not _sex_ , but love? Maybe?

He realizes this is _not_ helping set the stage for a confrontation with Obi-Wan. Not unless he really wants to paint himself as a monster.

Oh. _Oh_ , now what might work...

“He would _really_ be pathetic if it’s true,” Anakin says, trying to sound scornful. “Convincing himself that Fett _loves_ him when he’s no better than the scum that defiled my mother.”

Another stab of guilt. For all Jango’s many crimes, he’s not _that_.

“Evil hides itself in many forms,” Palpatine says calmly. “That Master Kenobi has been so mistreated he needs to convince himself his abuse is _love_ only underlines my fear that his judgment is no longer sound. How can we expect him to rationally assess any life or death situation when he’s incapable of seeing such obvious manipulation?”

That...really isn’t what Anakin is getting at. He’s putting it badly, he knows he is. He’s not eloquent with these things.

He just wants to know he’s doing the right thing, that he’s helping and supporting his Master in the best way. The scorched earth of Obi-Wan’s mind is green and blossoming again, and Anakin is terrified of seeing the damage return because he isn’t sufficiently vigilant.

He’s torn now. It’s one thing to double down on his previous resentment to better sell the story of his upcoming ‘fall’, but Palpatine has always been respectful of Obi-Wan and Anakin doesn’t want to poison that. He wants, one day, for the three of them to be friends. Obi-Wan doesn’t like politicians, but if he just gets to _know_ some of them better he’ll see how similar they all can be. Both the Chancellor and his Master enjoy a good debate, they both want what’s best for the Republic, they both want an end to the war. They both love Anakin. Surely that’s enough to at least begin establishing common grounds?

“I’m upsetting you,” Palpatine smiles sympathetically. “Forgive me. Talk of politics and war can wait for an official meeting. I want to know how _you_ are doing my boy?”

“I’m okay, thank you, sir,” Anakin smiles, relieved to let the topic change. “It’s nice to be back on Coruscant, even if just for a little while. Ahsoka can catch up with some lessons at the Temple and it’ll do her good to be out of a warzone for a few days.”

“You’re a good Master, Anakin. I always knew you’d be the greatest of Knights but even I must admit your progress is outstanding. To take a student so young, and despite such a tumultuous apprenticeship yourself...truly astonishing. Surely the Council must be discussing your promotion to Jedi Master?”

Anakin flushes painfully. “That’s not something that happens until a Knight’s first padawan passes the Trials.”

“Master Kenobi was promoted before you were knighted if I remember correctly?”

“The war started,” Anakin explains. “I think the Council knew from the start that they would be making him a High General.”

“But there is precedent,” Palpatine chuckles. “And you most assuredly deserve it. Especially when your Master never even took his own Trials - and was Knighted on the basis of a kill he never actually made.”

Anakin hasn’t really thought of it like that. No wonder Obi-Wan radiates such shame sometimes. First Maul, then the truth of Jango’s involvement in the war...

He’s struggling with what to say when Mas Amedda steps into the room wringing his hands and all but vibrating with worry. “Apologies, Your Grace, but I have urgent news.”

Anakin starts to rise, only for Palpatine to wave him back to his seat. “Stay, stay. If I can’t trust you, dear boy, who can I trust?” Anakin flashes him a grateful smile. “Carry on, Amedda.”

“We have received word from Mandalore,” he says lowly, eyes darting between the Chancellor and Anakin.

Aw kriffing hells, what’s Jango playing at now?

“And?|” The Chancellor raises an eyebrow. “What do they want?”

Amedda looks like he’d rather be _anywhere_ but here. “The, er... the clones, sir. He’s demanding all of the clones.”


	49. Chapter 49

The Temple isn’t what Boba expects it to be. No more than Mandalore is, anyway. He’s prepared for the stares and the speculation, a ready scowl just waiting to be leveled at anyone who dares look at him like a freak. Instead, the _jetii_ mostly mind their own business. He doesn’t belong there, but either word has spread of his presence or they really are all that polite. Quinlan Vos, who is by far the least stuff _jetii_ he's met - and he lovingly includes Obi-Wan on the list - gives him the ‘civilian’ tour of the Temple for a few hours upon landing, then escorts him to a room filled to the brim with wild plants of every color, trickling waterfalls and hundreds of delicately tinkling fountains. He’s never seen so much nature, so much life, and while he resents not being included in either Obi-Wan and Anakin’s meetings or Rex and Cody’s ‘pre-mission recon’, he doesn’t mind being asked to wait _here._

It’s quiet and peaceful, the few _jetii_ he can see all either sat or levitating a few feet off the ground, happily occupied with their own thoughts.

“Don’t cause any trouble. Kenobi’ll be here soon,” Vos tells him in a distracted voice, then promptly leaves, his comm flashing with dozens of incoming messages. He won’t tell Boba if he asks, so he doesn’t bother.

Instead, he wonders if he should comm his dad.

He’s still mad at him, and he doesn’t regret picking his brothers, but he’s never had to try and hate someone he loves before and it’s hard. He gets that he can’t just tell Cody and the others to leave their pain in the past or to accept Jango’s apology, and he knows it’s not his place to do either on their behalves, but if they forgive him, then Boba can as well. He wants to. He wants to think of his dad as the man who raised him, who loves and cherishes him even when he sets things on fire, even when he’s a brat. He wants Jango to be the man who practically worships Obi-Wan and who teases Anakin and who is just as gentle as he is fierce. That’s the man he knows. That’s the man he’s proud to call his _buir_.

He doesn’t know the man Cody knows and he doesn’t want to.

But he believes he exists. Or did, once.

He misses him. He misses the life they had, back when it was just the two of them. And it’s not that he wishes Obi-Wan never disrupted that, or that he never got to properly meet his brothers, or get to know Anakin and Ahsoka, but...

But a really small, shameful part of him _does_.

There’s a large tree in a secluded corner of the room, its long, leafy branches draping down to brush across blue-tipped grass. The trunk is wide and sturdy and offers a little spot of seclusion from the world. It reminds Boba of the garden they had back home - the one that’s now a crater in the earth - and he can’t help but remember watching his dad sweat and swear while tending to it. “ _It’s supposed to be relaxing_ ,” he’d muttered when Boba asked why he bothered with something he didn’t enjoy. “ _Lying bastard.”_ He’d not known it, but Obi-Wan was part of his life even then.

He’s not had any chance to really talk with Obi-Wan yet. Not alone. Not about what happened under the city, or since. Boba hasn’t been left completely unsupervised; Anakin’s actually pretty good at checking in with him, and Ahsoka seems to think he’s officially hers to boss around. Even Cody’s checking on him, awkward and mostly nonverbal, but still appreciated.

But Boba wants _Obi-Wan’s_ attention, even as he dreads it. And it makes no sense.

“You’ve found my favorite spot.” As if by will, Obi-Wan manifests himself in the garden, standing just on the outside of the thick leaves. With a start, Boba realizes he’s been sat for over an hour. “Might I join you?”

It seems pretty dumb to ask, but Boba shrugs anyway. “Sure.”

Obi-Wan carefully parts the branches and ducks under their arms. The tree is tall enough that he can stand without having to duck his head, but that doesn’t stop him sinking down into a cross-legged position opposite Boba. For the first time since they kidnapped him, Obi-Wan looks if not healthy then certainly less like he’s just had the kark kicked out of him. His face is free of bruises and his beard has grown back, now neatly trimmed to match his short hair.

“I used to come here a lot when I was your age,” he admits, smiling fondly at the greenery around them. “The solitude is soothing. As peaceful as the Temple is, the sheer number of sentient lifeforms can be overwhelming at times, especially to the young.”

“I grew up around a lot of people,” Boba points out. He’s pretty sure the clones outnumber _jetii_ like a hundred to one.

“They were in your sphere of being, yes,” Obi-Wan agrees, “but I think perhaps most of your time was spent solely with your father.”

“I have friends if that’s what you’re getting at,” Boba says sullenly, unable to name a single one. Or at least one who doesn’t share his dad’s face.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I don’t doubt it, but sometimes we can be surrounded by people, even ones who care for us, and still feel very alone.”

“Do you?”

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan says with a sad sort of smile. “It’s not always a bad thing, as I said, solitude can be a blessing for a Force-sensitive child, but there were many times while growing up that I felt cut off and isolated from my peers. I understand loneliness far more than you might think.”

Curious, Boba senses an opportunity and grabs it. “When you and dad...broke up. The first time. Did you miss him?”

Obi-Wan looks surprised. “Of course.”

“Even though you were angry with him?”

“I was never angry with Jango when we parted all those years ago. He made choices I didn’t understand - and still don’t if I’m honest - but I respected them, and him. If, as I suspect, you’re asking if I miss him _now_... very much so.” His eyes are soft and sad, his shoulders slumping just a little as he admits it.

“And you’re angry with him.” A statement this time, not a question.

Obi-Wan sighs heavily. “There is no room for anger in the life of a Jedi.”

Boba’s never understood how that works. He knows Obi-Wan gets angry - he’s seen it, and _Anakin_ , he gets insanely angry... “Why not? Why is it wrong to be mad at him for what he did?”

“It’s not wrong, Boba,” Obi-Wan says softly. “Not for you. Not even for me. Actions have consequences and we cannot always dictate how something impacts our emotions.”

“So why can’t you be mad?”

Obi-Wan looks thoughtful for a moment. “You remember Maul?” Boba shudders. “He is no Jedi, but ultimately there is little but choice and training that separates us. He, like myself and Anakin, feels the power of the Force in every breath that he takes. The energy that surrounds and infuses all living things is one we can connect with, in every thought and action that we take. But it must remain in balance. You’ve heard that my relationship with your father is not one looked upon favorably by many of the Jedi?”

“I thought it was ‘cos he’s _Mando’ade_ ,” Boba admits.

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitches. “I’m sure that hasn’t helped matters,” he says wryly. “But no. It is attachment that is forbidden, not relationships. The Jedi _call_ it attachment, but for clarity’s sake, we’ll call it love.”

“So _jetii_ aren’t allowed to love?” That seems like the biggest pile of stinking banthashite Boba has ever heard. And suggests that Obi-Wan is a terrible _jetii_.

“Do you understand that there are different kinds of love?” Obi-Wan asks. “That I love your father in a way that is different than how I love you and your brothers?” Boba’s not expecting the sudden burst of warmth that comes at Obi-Wan’s casual admittance of love. All he can do is nod. “And that itself is very different than how I love my fellow Jedi, or how I love the Republic?”

“Yeah.”

“Love is the foundation of all a Jedi is,” Obi-Wan explains, then smiles, as if in thought. “I’ve had a very similar conversation with Rex, you know?”

That surprises Boba. And makes him feel a little less alone. “Really?”

“Yes. A Jedi can - and should - love everyone. But likewise, we must always be wary of our intent. Do we love because we should, or because of how that loves makes us feel? Is our love open and honest and selfless, or is it possessive and selfish? Look at your father: he has done many things in the name of love. Some of them have been wonderful, and others terrible. There must be a balance. If the negative impact of our love outweighs the good, if it leads to fear, to anger or hatred, then it no longer serves the purpose it _should_.”

“I...I don’t...” he doesn’t get it. He _wants_ to. He wants to understand because if he does then maybe his chest will stop hurting so much.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan shifts and leans forwards, his words only for Boba and the tree a silent guardian. “I love your father, you know that. I feel alive with him in a way I never do when we are apart. My choice then, back on Mandalore, was to give pardon for crimes that are not mine to forgive and to stay with him, knowing how loving and being loved by him makes me feel, or-”

Oh. “But that would be selfish. You’d be picking your feelings over the bad things he did to Cody and the others.”

“Precisely,” Obi-Wan smiles. “It doesn’t stop me loving him and I doubt anything ever will, but there must be a balance. Assume for a moment that I stayed on Mandalore, that I chose him over my duty. My interests would be torn between him and the Republic, my thoughts and focus not where they needed to be. How many might die on my orders?”

“But you could leave,” Boba says, “you said you would’ve if he’d meant it.”

For the first time, Obi-Wan looks honestly miserable. “I did, and I would’ve, but that ship has flown. I have a responsibility to more than just Jango now.”

“Balance?”

“Balance,” he nods. “But none of this means that _you_ are not allowed to feel anger, Boba. Our feelings, all of them, are valid. It is how we turn them back out into the world that matters.” He reaches forward and puts a hand on Boba’s shoulder. “And you are allowed to miss him, too. They aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I guess I just want things to be better,” Boba shrugs. The hand on his shoulder is warm and comforting. Boba’s not a _cuddly_ person, but he leans into the touch regardless.

“So do I,” Obi-Wan agrees. “That’s something all of us can work for together.” He hesitates, then adds; “But sometimes the dark in the galaxy gets bigger before the light can take its place. No matter what happens, I know you are strong enough to face it. You are the best of your father. All the good that lives in his heart, I see in you.”

“I want to help,” Boba says around a lump in his throat. He thinks he can walk on water right now, or air, the warmth of that praise filling his bones and making him feather-light. “I know you think I’m too young, but-”

“But the next words out of your mouth will be ones I have spoken myself many a time,” Obi-Wan chuckles. “Believe me, I know your worth, Boba Fett. You will have a part to play, I am sure, but for now, please just _be_? We are heading into unprecedented times and much will be asked of you. The world will not be kind to you or your brothers, but you can help them in a way no one else can. Stay with them, let them love you, love them back if you can.”

He can do that. If Obi-Wan can love _all_ of them and not even be their blood, then Boba can too. He gets the feeling that Obi-Wan wants to say more to him, but now he’s found his courage, Boba has something he needs to say, too. “About Mandalore... and Maul....”

Grief and sorrow flash through Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I am truly sorry for the things I said in that room. I hope you know I was only trying to spare you Maul’s attention.”

“I do now,” Boba admits, his voice small as he inadvertently lets Obi-Wan know that they _had_ hurt. “But that’s not what I mean.”

Obi-Wan sits back and nods. “Go on,” he encourages.

“You would’ve won the fight if not for me,” Boba says stubbornly, remembering the way Vizsla held a blade to his neck in threat.

“That’s not-”

“No, wait,” he’s not sure where he’s got the nerve from, but for some reason it’s deadly important he explains himself. “You can’t do that again. If Maul, or someone... whoever... threatens to hurt me, you _can’t_ give yourself up.”

“As extraordinary as you are, Boba, you are still a child. And my responsibility.”

Boba might be _Jango’s_ son, but he’s a fast learner, and Obi-Wan has lots of knowledge to share, whether he knows it or not. “That’s _selfish_ _love_ ,” Boba says, sticking his chin out stubbornly. “If you have to pick between me or completing the mission - saving _others_ \- and you chose to save me...” he swallows, the idea terrifying but _right_. “Dad would pick me. You have to be better.”

He’s surprised when Obi-Wan reaches forward and pulls him into his arms but quickly sinks into the comfort of the embrace. He’s warm and gentle and somehow _radiates_ calmness and love. The scary thing they are talking about doesn’t seem so scary as rough palms stroke over the top of Boba’s curly hair. “Know that I will do all within my power to protect you, ad’ika,” Obi-Wan whispers.

“As a Jedi,” Boba clarifies.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees, his voice sounding tight. “As a Jedi.”


	50. Chapter 50

Any hope Rex has of the Council talking some sense into his Generals is quickly quashed as both they and Boba join them in one of the Officer’s ready room at GAR HQ on Coruscant.

“Ahsoka, would you and Boba check in with medical? I want a full inventory run before we’re sent back to the front.” Obi-Wan tucks his hands into the long sleeves of his robe and casts a warm smile on the two youngsters.

Boba pulls a face. “That sounds boring.”

“It _is_ boring,” Ahsoka agrees.

“But necessary, Snips,” Anakin says firmly. “You said you wanted to take on more responsibility.”

“Fun responsibility,” Ahsoka sulks. “Not datawork responsibility.”

The full belly laugh that escapes Anakin is almost startling to Rex, who thinks he might actually have forgotten how to laugh in the midst of all this chaos. “Trust me, I give you _way_ less assignments than Obi-Wan used to give me.”

“I thought you enjoyed my essay topics?” Obi-Wan’s mustache twitches in amusement.

“No one enjoys writing essays, Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighs.

“I did.”

“No one _cool_.”

“ _Anakin_.”

Ahsoka’s look of delight at the old teasing between her Master and _his_ Master quickly morphs into a sulky pout when Anakin stops chuckling and gives her a gentle nudge towards the door. She knows what needs to be done and is no doubt responsible for keeping Boba safe and distracted, but Rex can’t tell if she’s playing up for the show of it, or if this is her way of expressing how uncomfortable she is with their whole plan. Rex, who doesn’t have the freedom to do either, is in full support of it.

“Come on, Boba,” Ahsoka pulls him along with her. She casts a final, shadowed look over her shoulder, then leads Boba from the room.

“We have a problem,” Anakin says the moment the door closes behind them.

“When don’t we?” Cody grumbles. He seems to have moved far beyond the point of patience these days and is approaching every day with the grim fatalism of a man on the edge.

Anakin’s response comes with a wry smile of agreement, followed by a very heavy - and melodramatic - sigh. “Jango is... invading the Republic? Suing the Senate? Both? He’s asking for the immediate release of all clones from service to the GAR and I get the impression that he’s not going to accept no for an answer.”

Neither Rex nor Cody manage anything more significant in the way of a response than flat, dead silence.

It’s clear Obi-Wan already knows, and since both he and Anakin have come from the Temple then the Council must as well. Rex is curious to know how Obi-Wan took it; his expression is giving absolutely nothing away.

“It forces us to reevaluate our plans -”

“The one where General Skywalker murders you?” Cody says, his voice _heavy_ with disapproval. “Surely it makes it an easier sell? You side with Fett.”

“Which puts me at odds with the Jedi and the Senate, yes, but if that’s the case then by killing me, Anakin is doing his duty. It would only cement his allegiance to the Republic, not destroy it. I would be the one falling, not Anakin. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that we switch roles, but-”

“But Jango will probably do something stupid if he hears that you’ve been killed trying to defect and join him,” Rex sums up. He’s probably being kinder than Jango deserves. The man kidnapped Obi-Wan to save him from bounty hunters and tore a Sith’s head clean off just for laying a hand on him.

“Oh, he’ll most certainly do something stupid,” Obi-wan says irritably. “That’s Jango’s entire remit: doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. Regardless, it does present us with a third option.”

“I’m going to Padmé,” Anakin announces. “She has the connections in the Senate, and we can trust her.” It's times like this where the bond the two of them share is _annoying as hell_. So much goes unspoken that the rest of them have to work twice as hard to keep up.

“Good,” Obi-Wan agrees. “If she’s not already in contact with them, have her reach out to Senators Organa and Motha. They are both sympathetic to the situation and are known voices of reason and temperance within the Senate.”

Sympathetic? To the situation? Which _one_? Rex clears his throat. “Can he even do this? I mean, does he have the right?”

“Honestly?” Obi-Wan frowns. “I have no idea. I do know that his best chance of success is through the courts but as a neutral system, it is a long and tedious - not to mention expensive - process that would offer you boys little protection or support for the duration. We’re talking years, not months, and Jango does not have that kind of patience. If the Senate don’t agree to his demands - which they won’t, I can tell you that now - then I see very little likelihood of him not taking direct action.”

“They really won’t? There’s not even a chance?” Rex wants to kick himself for asking.

“I’m afraid not,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes soft with regret. “Had he been more circumspect, were there not the Sith in play... perhaps, but in true Mandalorian fashion, he’s gone right for the jugular. The Senate _can’t_ agree, even if they want to.”

“And they might,” Anakin tries to sound hopeful. “Padmé will push for it, I know she will.”

“But if they give in-” Cody shakes his head slowly.

“Then the republic loses its army _and_ the war,” Obi-Wan concludes grimly. “It will not happen. If Jango allows the situation to escalate, he will put us all in a very precarious position.”

Cody’s shoulders slump. He sighs and shakes his head, pinching his nose. “Remind me again how we are genetic copies of that _di’kut_?” Obi-Wan puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, I do think he’s attempting to do the right thing.”

Cody snorts. “So I should just forgive him? He kriffs things up _again_ , and I just-”

“No, Cody, not at all.” Obi-Wan leans in closer. “Forgiveness is yours to give as and when - and if - you chose. It’s not to be traded for favors, or complications, in this case. Besides, _I_ am still angry with him. I might actually be _angrier_ with him, but then I suppose I should’ve seen this coming.”

“He’s threatened to go to war with the Republic before?” Cody asks bleakly.

“Smaller scale, similar thought process,” Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“So what do we do?”

They’re back at square one, no closer to a plan than they were when they began. Rex is starting to feel as exhausted as Cody looks. Every hour there’s something new to worry about. Fuck, he’s actually starting to miss the clean simplicity of the battlefield. At least there he knows who he’s fighting against. He’s a soldier, not a spy. His strength is in a _fight_ , not whatever psychological warfare they’re finding themselves embroiled in right now.

“Anakin can’t kill me,” Obi-Wan says firmly, “under the guise of either of us defecting. Not until we find a way to contain the threat Jango poses. To that end, I will meet with him and parlay. The Council have already approved my appointment to speak on behalf of the Senate-”

“Do the _Senate_ know about that?” Cody demands in surprise.

“I imagine they’re finding out any minute now,” Obi-Wan says mildly, checking the time. “Which is why it is imperative Anakin leaves soon.”

“The Chancellor won’t approve,” Anakin admits reluctantly.

“He won’t accuse me of anything duplicitous, not without proof,” Obi-Wan says confidently. “The Senate already did an investigation into me after Jabiim and he was one of the most vocal supporters of my past actions. He is, ultimately, a politician: he won’t risk losing face until he has concrete evidence against me.” He seems to realize how unhappy Anakin looks and nudges him gently with his arm. “Besides, he trusts you, Anakin. Between you and Padmé, I have every confidence you can placate him _and_ the Senate until I smack some sense into Jango.”

“Not to be the voice of negativity here,” Cody says gruffly, “but what’s to stop him abducting you the second you meet with him? And don’t say he wouldn’t because he’s exactly the kind of _shleb_ who’d consider locking you up until the fighting’s done ‘for your own good’.”

“Cody has a point,” Rex agrees. They seem to all be on the same uncomfortable page of accepting that Jango cares, even loves, all of them, and knowing that he has some highly suspect ways of showing that love. Rex isn’t sure how much of it is cultural, how much of it is a response to trauma, and how much is just...Jango.

“Which is why he’ll be coming with me,” Obi-Wan agrees.

“And Ghost Company.” Cody crosses his arms.

“Yes, alright, and Ghost Company.”

“And-”

“We’re not bringing the entire 212th, Commander. These are supposed to be negotiations, not war games.” Cody’s expression is sour enough to strip the paint off the hull of a starcrusier. Obi-Wan ignores it. “I am proposing we parlay on Adin. It’s a neutral planet in the Expansion Region located on the Corsin Run of the Hydian Way. If, as I suspect, Jango is mobilizing his fleet, then one of the faster troop carriers should have us within the sector shortly after they arrive.”

“After...” Rex finds himself in agreement with Cody’s deepening scowl. Arriving second means they have no chance of avoiding any traps or ambushes.

“There are few other planets in the area that I would trust to be neutral and who would even consider allowing us to land. It’s unfortunate, but we will have to make do.”

“One false move and I obliterate him,” Cody warns. “I’m sorry, General, but I won’t stop and ask your permission first.” It’s the closest Cody’s come to outright admitting that he thinks Obi-Wan’s judgment is compromised. Rex cringes, expecting... well, anger, maybe? Or disappointment?

Instead, Obi-Wan nods. And smiles. “That is why I want you at my side, Commander. There is no one I trust more.”

“Ahem?” Anakin’s cough is his awkward way of trying to break the tension. It works, insomuch as it makes the rest of them roll their eyes.

“You are literally in my head right now, being quite a nuisance, I might add. If I didn’t trust you then this would all be a bit of a disaster.”

“He’s trusting you with _politics_ ,” Rex points out. “Which is like trusting _me_ with explosives or Cody with taking a day off.”

Cody doesn’t kick him now. But he will, as soon as they’re alone.

“That’s a good point,” Anakin muses. “Speaking of good points, you know who else you should take with you to meet your husband?”

Obi-Wan’s expression falls flat. “No. I am not bringing Boba into this. He’s not a tool to barter with.”

“And we are?” Rex isn’t trying to be an asshole, but... “He’s as much a part of this as the rest of us.”

They wait for an argument.

They don’t get one. Instead, Obi-Wan lets out a heavy sigh of defeat. “Very well. I will speak to Boba and if he is amenable, he will join our efforts. Now, to work. May the Force be with us all.”

* * *

To say that the Chancellor takes things badly is... an understatement. Actually, no. On the surface, he takes it reasonably well. Rex is just uncomfortably adept at reading all of the things that go unsaid.

Anakin trusts the Chancellor. Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to trust a single politician, for all that he’ll admit some are better than others. Rex picks an approach that tracks somewhere down the middle. He’s open-minded, but he’s not about to trust _anyone_.

So while Anakin pleads Obi-Wan’s case to the Chancellor, and Padmé to the Senate - Rex stands guard, and waits. He watches. It gives him chance to touch base with Fox, who he hasn’t seen in months, and the rest of the Guard whose jobs Rex doesn’t envy in the slightest. It’s one thing to keep your guard up throughout continuous combat and something else to do it in the middle of a civilian establishment. Both are exhausting, and he knows for a fact which he prefers.

Two and a half days after their agreed plan of action, something Rex has titled in his head as _Operation Jango’s Latest Fuckup_ , and the first stage of negotiations is due to unfold within the next few hours. Scouts along the Hydian Way have confirmed the movement of a massive fleet from Mandalorian Space, the ships old, but more than capable of overwhelming the Republic’s already overstretched fleet if not properly countered.

The 3rd Systems Army, purely be the default of already being in Core Space, has been moved into position to engage should Jango try and push forward. It’s a decision nearly as unpopular as Obi-Wan being the Jedi sent to negotiate in the first place.

Rex trusts Obi-Wan. He trusts his integrity, and he trusts Cody’s trigger finger. But one wrong move... one wrong _word_. This is stretching the Republic’s faith in the Jedi to the breaking point. They can’t afford a single mistake.

Rex, his comm link to Cody open for final mission checks, stands in a shadowed alcove of the Senate while Anakin and General Windu quietly watch over Senator Amidala. She, along with Senator Organa, is delivering an impassioned plea for diplomacy, warning against the folly of antagonizing Mandalore unnecessarily. Rex might be paying it all more attention if the last two days hadn’t been filled with various politicians and bureaucrats using every tactic in the book to dehumanize his brothers. It’s beyond clear that most of the Senate sees them all as little more than very expensive droids.

They swing from the extreme to the ridiculous, from suggesting that all the clones are destroyed before they ‘can return to their true master’ to commissioning a _second_ set of clones, with a different donor, to fight the current set. If Rex listens too closely, he’s scared he might shoot someone.

If Anakin doesn’t get there first. It’s taken all of Senator Amidala’s considerable grace and eloquence from stopping Anakin going after the Senator who suggested Rex and all his brothers be immediately decommissioned.

It’s disloyal, and it makes his spine ache and tingle just thinking about it, but kriff, some of these _shelbs_ are just as bad as Dooku. Maybe worse. Dooku’s a Sith, and a _bastard_ , and no one is claiming otherwise. These people shroud themselves in civility and credits and fool everyone.

 _“You okay, vod?”_ Cody’s voice is calmer than when they last spoke. At the edge of the hollow, he can see Obi-Wan and Boba sat side by side. It looks like Obi-Wan is teaching Boba something from a datapad.

Rex misses his brothers. It’s only been a few days, but he hates being parted.

“Remind me never to complain next time we’re thrown into a fight without backup.”

_“That bad?”_

“We’re not people to them,” he admits softly. “We’re little more than droids.”

 _“They’re wrong,”_ Cody says firmly. “ _You know they’re wrong.”_

He doesn’t dare say it, not over a line that isn’t secure, but is it bad that a small part of him wants Jango to win? He _can’t_ defect. He’s a good soldier. But if the Senate cuts them loose... Not that he thinks life with Jango will be any better, only... well... it might be.

He changes the subject. “How long ‘til you land?”

“ _Hour_ ,” Cody says. “ _The General’s spoken to Fett and confirmed our RV._ ”

“You think he’ll listen?”

_“I think he’ll rock up in sparkly pink beskar’gam if that’s what the General asks. This isn’t really about us, it’s about him.”_

Rex knows that. Knows this wouldn’t even be an issue if Jango didn’t love Obi-Wan. He reminds himself that it’s _this_ reason life wouldn’t be any different if they suddenly belonged to Mandalore. Maybe so many brothers wouldn’t die needlessly, but they’ll still not be free.

“You think there’s something they aren’t telling us?”

 _“Always,”_ Cody says grimly. “ _Not our place to ask.”_ It’s times like this that Cody’s impossible to read. He’s the most loyal man Rex knows, but it’s sometimes hard to know _who_ that loyalty is directed to. He swallows and watches as Cody touches the side of his wrist. _“I’ve gotta go. Incoming transmission from the Chancellor.”_

“Probably to check you aren’t all speaking _Mando’a_ already,” Rex snorts. He lets Cody close the call without saying anything further, then turns his attention back to the Senate.

It’s strange, though. The Chancellor is in session. Even from within the cavernous room, Rex can see him on his platform, speaking quietly into his comm. It’s not unusual for that to happen, for him, or for any Senator, to quietly field other lines of communication during a session.

But why would he be speaking to _Cody?_ Surely he’d speak directly to Obi-Wan?

It’s General Windu who catches sight of him first. “Everything alright, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Rex says instinctively. Then. “I don’t know?” The General raises an elegant eyebrow. “I...”

Across from them, his back turned, Anakin reaches up... clutches his head... and lets out a sudden scream of rage so soaked in fear and shock that it knocks Rex clean off his feet.

He hits the wall hard. Too hard.

But not before his in-ear radio switches to an emergency channel and a voice as cold as the grave reaches into his head.

“ _Execute Order 66.”_


	51. Chapter 51

Obi-Wan is late. He’s late, so obviously he’s not coming. He’s changed his mind and still hates Jango’s guts and they're gonna end up facing each other on the battlefield for sure and Jango might as well just cut his heart out now because he’s _never_ raising a weapon to his _riduur_ again and-

“If you do not stop pacing,” Bo Katan growls, “I will bodily launch you into the closest star.”

“I’m not pacing,” Jango protests. He’s met with a flat, unimpressed stare from his advisor, so turns to Irre, who makes a point of opening her comm to run last-minute security checks. One by one the units stationed on the planet sound off in order before the Admirals commanding his fleet follow form.

If you’d told him a year ago that he’d be leading an invading force to Coruscant to politely request the release of his four million sons...

And somehow the only people close to him right now are the sister of one of his biggest political rivals and a woman who never got the chance to meet the respectable man he was two decades ago. Neither of them seems to be ready to tolerate his shit, and that’s great, really, but kriff, he misses Obi-Wan’s tact.

He misses Obi-Wan, period.

And he knows he’s mad at him.

Madder than he was a week ago, which was madder than he’s ever been at Jango _ever_. So. At least Jango is consistent, right?

“Is that them?” he demands, almost tripping over his feet as he takes a step forward. There’s a distant shape on the horizon that’s steadily moving closer.

Obi-Wan’s picked a beautiful planet. Soft pink skies and gently rolling hills. The water is insanely acidic, so no swimming no matter how inviting the beaches look. Not that they have time to swim or anything, he’s just... he’s just having a mental fucking breakdown.

“That’s them,” Irre confirms. She’s in direct contact with the fleet, who will have clocked the ship miles away. Jango’s own comms are patched to the same channel, but he’s muted the line, unwilling to allow himself to be distracted when he needs to put every single speck of smarts he can scrape together into forming a speech eloquent and informed enough to win Obi-Wan ‘Jedi Master of the Republic’ Kenobi around from the easier and probably more enjoyable plan of just stabbing Jango in the face.

He lets out a short, sharp breath. Okay. Okay, he’s got this. Bass has coached him on all the legal shit and he’s not touched a drop of alcohol in long enough that the hangover has finally faded.

He’s alert, composed, ready, and-

The ship is going to crash.

Bo Katan and Irre are already seeing what he’s seeing. The Republic cruiser wobbles dangerously off course, approaching the ground at an angle far too sharp and far too fast.

Who the _hell_ is flying?

Jango starts to run, sprinting across the wide-open space between the Mandalorian faction and what he estimates to be the landing zone of the incoming craft.

He can hear Bo Katan cursing even as Irre tries to call him back, citing a threat. They think this is a ploy, an act, one designed to lure Jango away from safety and out into the open.

Jango knows better.

And as the ship finally impacts, the bow immediately collapsing in on itself as it scrapes along the ground, Jango feels the earth move violently beneath his feet.

It knocks him off balance, but he doesn’t fall. He pushes on, harder and faster, swerving to avoid shrapnel that flies off the destroyed hull as it continues to eat up dirt and spit it back out again.

It just about reaches a standstill by the time Jango and the others get there.

They have to pry the hatch open, Irre and her guards taking point and forming a protective circle, armed and ready to spring into action.

The incoming rumble of distant engines signals the approach of the _baar'ure_. Bo Katan must’ve called them in, or maybe one of the ships sent them preemptively. Jango doesn’t much care which. Whatever they find inside, however injured the passengers are...

Under their combined effort, they finally free the buckled door and take a step back in order for it to open. It doesn’t slide fully back, too warped by the impact to fit in its assigned place, but the entrance is big enough for Jango to force his way inside.

Inside it’s eerily quiet.

He calls out, both as a reassurance that help is coming and a warning to save himself from getting shot in the face by an injured trooper.

He’s hoping for an answer from someone. From Obi-Wan. But instead, the voice that calls to him is _Boba. “Dad?”_

Any sense of caution that Jango might’ve had evaporates. “Boba!”

“Dad!”

The cry is coming from the main deck of the ship. Jango pushes on, climbing over wrecked fixtures and sparking electronics. There’s a scent of fuel in the air and things are already burning. He has to move fast.

“Boba, where are you?”

Bo Katan and her commandos are close behind him. Under her order, they break away to check the rest of the ship as Jango pushes forward.

Once he reaches the main deck, he finds his first body. The symbol of a mythosaur has been carefully etched on the side of the trooper’s helmet in golden yellow paint. It’s Ballsy. He’s not been killed by the crash, though. A blaster bolt has torn right through the slim gap in his armor between collarbone and neck. A precision shot.

Jango reaches for his blaster. This is clearly no longer a catastrophic malfunction resulting in a crash: there’s been fighting _inside_ the ship.

Were they transporting prisoners?

“Boba!”

“Dad!” He’s close. _So_ close. Boba’s voice reverberates against metal. One of the ship’s inner support structures has buckled with the impact, forcing Jango to duck almost in half to crawl through into the main communal space.

He’s not even pushed himself up straight before Boba collides with him, his skinny arms fastening around Jango’s neck and clinging tightly.

After honestly fearing he might never see his boy again - his own fault he knows, he _knows_ \- Jango suddenly finds himself unable to speak around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say or how to help - or even what help is needed - so he does what he _can._ Putting firm hands on the boy’s shoulders, he pushes him back and holds him still so he can check him over for injuries. There are smudges of soot and dirt across his cheeks and scuffs of blood, already dried, from a shallow graze on his chin. He doesn’t look too badly hurt, and Jango pulls him close in relief.

Only for Boba to immediately start to squirm. “You have to help!” he chokes, grabbing Jango’s wrist and tugging him forward.

There’s been no sight or sound of Obi-Wan. As Boba pulls him along, Jango’s heart grows ever colder as he fears what he will find.

“What happened?” he asks. There’s no way Cody will have allowed Obi-Wan to meet with Jango minus an escort, but apart from Ballsy, he’s not seen any of the usual suspects.

Boba shakes his head, wide-eyed, and lost for words. The hunched, frightened set of his shoulders worries Jango even more than his silence.

They turn a corner, and then-

Obi-Wan is alive. That’s the first - and only positive - thing Jango clocks. There’s a wash of blood streaming from a cut at his hairline that's frightening but is hopefully not as bad as it looks. It’s turned the collar of his tunic dark as rust, and starkly highlights the sickly pallor of his face.

Worse, though, are the twin lines of tears that cut watery rivets through the blood and finish off what little control Jango has on his fear.

He loves Obi-Wan, and his _riduur_ is unquestionably graceful, compact, and quiet; most mistake that for soft, _weak_. They don’t know that he’s stronger than the molten core of a star and twice as hard as one a billion years cold. Jango does. Jango has been in a shuttle crash with him before. He should be on his feet, bleeding or not, and taking control of the chaos. He _should_ be getting Boba to safety, checking on the status of his men, and generally being ten times as stubborn and hardheaded as his grizzly old master used to be. Instead, he’s on his knees, weeping silently.

A moment later, Jango sees why.

Of course Cody was at his side. Not even Jango’s meddling can undo the bond the two of them have. Where once if you found Obi-Wan, Anakin would be close by, now Anakin has grown and taken his own apprentice, and Cody has stepped in to fill the space on Obi-Wan’s left.

His helmet lays to the side, discarded and cracked. It leaves him unprotected, yes, but allows for the rhythmic, almost unconscious stroke of Obi-Wan’s bloody fingers through his short, tightly cropped curls. He’s paler than Jango has ever seen him. Emptier, too. Even as a child, even in stillness, a fire has always burned brightly in Cody. It’s what makes him special, and what made him stand out all those years ago.

That fire is gone.

“Is...is he...” he falls to his knees at Obi-Wan’s side and wonders if he has _any_ right to try and reach for his s- for Cody, even just to search for a pulse.

He must be dead. For Obi-Wan to just sit here, silent and broken, for him to not even try waking Cody or give him medical care...

Jango’s own _buc’ye_ hits the floor by his side. “ _N’edee_ , is he dead?”

He has no right to cry for Cody or utter that beloved nickname, but Obi-Wan looks merely heartbeats away from disintegrating right before his eyes.

Nothing. No response. Obi-Wan merely clutches Cody to his chest, strokes his hair and stares into space.

What _happened_?

“Boba?” He’s surprised to see Boba keeping his distance. “Boba, where are the others?”

“We locked them in the engine room,” Boba’s voice is whisper-soft, his bottom lip trembling as his red eyes brim with fresh tears.

“Why?” By ‘we’ he assumes he means himself and Obi-Wan, but it makes no sense. If Obi-Wan was trying to protect everyone then why not lock Boba in as well? Why leave himself open to risk by keeping Boba at his side instead of the likes of Gregor or Waxer?

“He...they...C-Cody...” Boba’s hopeless shaking of his head and frightened stammering is more than Jango knows how to handle. He’s _never_ seen the child behave like this. Not even after the incident with Maul and Vizsla.

“ _Ke'sush'_ , Boba,” he says firmly. “Focus. Pay attention. _Meg ru'banar?”_ What happened?

Without any sign from Obi-Wan or even a hint that Cody still lives, Jango stops trying to be considerate of their feelings towards him and slides his fingers under the tight black neck of Cody’s bodyglove, searching for a pulse. He waits.

It’s there. Tentative and slow, but it’s there.

Maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t know? Maybe he’s in shock, and can’t focus the Force?

“He’s alive, _kair’ta._ It’s okay! See?” He tries to draw Obi-Wan’s attention, tries to take his pale hand in his own and press it to Cody’s chest, only for Boba to finally find his voice again.

“He tried to kill us.”

Jango obviously hasn’t heard him right. “What?”

Boba doubles down on the devastation. “They all did. I don’t know what happened. I was sitting with Obi-Wan. He was teaching me xenolingustics. He says you’re terrible at Ryl. He says I’d offend everyone with the pronunciation you taught me-” he’s rambling, and for a split second Jango is overwhelmed with fondness as he remembers being in a bar on Ryloth with Obi-Wan, years ago, a bust lip and a cocky grin from a fight that only kicked off because he apparently said something rude about someone’s sister. That warmth doesn’t last.

Kriff, he thinks Boba is going into shock.

Jango holds out his hand. “Come here, _kotep verd’ika’ner_.” He’s not called Boba his brave little soldier in _years_ , not since before they left Kamino. Now, he wonders if Boba takes the absence of the endearment as a sign of failure on _his_ behalf and not Jango’s growing awareness of his many crimes against his boys. If it eases the child’s fear, he’ll shoulder the discomfort.

But Boba seems to be in no rush to join him.

He’s _afraid_ of Cody.

Which suggests that he _really_ did try to kill them.

He hits his comm without hesitation. “Have you found the others?” he asks Bo Katan.

_“In the engine room. The door’s been sealed - looks like someone took a lightsaber to it. We’re cutting it open now. You thinking Maul?”_

“Stop what you’re doing. Get Irre in there and secure the entrance before opening it. Boba says he and Obi-Wan were attacked by their own troops. If Obi-Wan locked them in, I don’t want things to escalate until we know what the kriff happened.”

There’s a beat of silence where Bo Katan is no doubt questioning all of her life choices, but then; “ _I’ll section the level off and get ge'tal verda in to stun everyone inside. We’ll round ‘em up; you can interrogate them later.”_

It makes the most sense, but, “Don’t hurt them, that’s an order. A hand raised to them is a hand raised to me.”

“ _Alor_ ,” Bo Katan confirms, then cuts the connection.

Cody’s state of unconsciousness and Obi-Wan’s aching horror suggest that while they might’ve managed to isolate most of the troopers, there was one dangerous exception. Of everyone on board, Cody represents the single greatest threat. Jango trained him from birth to go toe to toe with a Jedi, and he beat those lessons in deep. Obi-Wan would never raise a weapon against him, not unless he had no choice, not even _if_ Cody attacked him. Jango is living proof that he’ll always seek a non-violent solution where possible.

He catches a glimpse of Boba’s bloody chin.

Obi-Wan _would_ defend Boba, though. Was that it? Was he forced to _cho_ o _se?_

Kriffing hells, this is _Cody._

Cody would never hurt Obi-Wan. He’d never hurt _Boba._

Something rumbles beneath his knees and reminds him that they’re sitting in a room that’s _on fire_.

They can figure things out once they get everyone to safety.

“Okay, okay, here-” he gently pries Obi-Wan’s arms from around Cody, half expecting a fight but instead finding Boba pushing himself into the space Cody once occupied. Obi-Wan only hesitates for a second before continuing his soothing gesture of stroking over Boba’s hair.

That leaves Jango with Cody. Inch by inch, pound by pound, they are identical. Which is to say it’s a lot more work putting him over his shoulder than he likes to dwell on. The hardest part is getting up off his knees, but he manages, an arm clasped tightly over the back of Cody’s calves, holding him in place.

A soldier. He has to think of Cody as just another soldier. If he stops to think about who he _really_ is, Jango isn’t going to be any better than Obi-Wan.

“Boba, help him.” Beyond the cut to his head, Obi-Wan doesn’t seem badly injured, and he follows obediently, if stiffly, when the child tugs him to his feet. “Good. That’s good. Come on. We need to get out of here.”

They manage well enough until they reach Ballsy’s body.

A whine of pain claws its way out of Obi-Wan’s throat. He stops, tries to reach for the boy, his face crumpled and devastated. Boba tugs on his sleeve. He shouldn’t be able to make Obi-Wan do anything he doesn’t want to, but Jango is honestly starting to worry that there’s something bad going on inside his head right now. He’s not comatose the way he was after Maul’s attack, but he’s not coherent either.

He needs to comm Anakin, negotiations be damned.

“Come on,” Jango encourages, “come on, we need to get out.”

Even Boba hesitates. Ballsy was his friend and for all that the child has experienced in the world, he’s been sheltered from many heartbreaks. “We can’t leave him,” he whimpers.

Jango fights back the urge to scream. “I’ll send a team to come and get him, I promise. But we have to go. We need to get Cody to the medics. We need to get Obi-Wan somewhere safe. You gotta help me, ad’ika.”

Boba trembles, but nods. Jango’s proud of him, so proud, but gods, what he’d give to spare him this.

By the time they make it outside, a dozen medics are on hand to take Cody from Jango. They place him gently on a stretcher and begin their checks. Jango chokes, hesitates, then tells them that Cody is a _prisoner_ , not an ally.

They can’t take any chances.

The mood changes. His _verde_ switch from alert and in the moment to tense and wary. They all know _who_ Cody is. What he is. They’re as confused as Jango is.

Another of the medics fusses over Boba, who tries to swat them away and direct their attention to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is ignoring them.

Free from his precious burden and satisfied that Cody is being cared for, Jango turns to his _riduur_.

Obi-Wan is stiff as he is pulled into Jango’s arms, unwelcoming and cold. Jango brushes off the hurt. This isn’t about him, or them, or the past.

“Talk to me, _n’edee_ ,” he begs.

And by some miracle, Obi-Wan does. “They’re dying,” he whispers.

“Who?” Jango asks, hooking his fingers under Obi-Wan’s chin and raising him to eye level. “The boys? They’re okay, I swear.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head slowly. “You should’ve just killed me,” he whispers, tears rolling free and fresh. Jango tries not to recoil when one lands on his thumb; he swears it _burns_.

“What are you talking about? Killed you? Why would I kill you? I _love_ you.”

“Then call it off. Take me instead.” He jolts, life flooding back to his gaze, wild and desperate. “I love you. You know I love you. Call it off, please. Please! I’ll stay with you, I’ll stay with you forever... _please_.”

Jango can’t remember the last time he’s been this frightened. Obi-Wan is making no sense. Call what off? What does he think Jango has done?

He looks over to Cody. Cody, who by all accounts _attacked_ Obi-Wan. Him, and his brothers, who...

Jango’s heart stills in his chest. He reaches for his comm and tries to raise Anakin.

He gets no answer.

Ahsoka.

No answer.

Gods have mercy on him, he tries the only other Jedi whose comm codes he has.

There’s no answer from Quinlan Vos either.

“Who’s dying, Obi-Wan?” Jango asks. He doesn’t have the stomach to call him anything other than his name.

He already knows the answer.

Something bad in his head, that’s what Jango feared. If he’s right, then it more than explains the confused state of shock Obi-Wan seems to be in.

And he thinks _Jango_ is somehow involved.

When this is done, when Obi-Wan and Boba are safe, he needs to rid the galaxy of the evil his mere existence puts in it.

Obi-Wan bows his head, Jango the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees.

“You did your job, Jango Fett,” he whispers, “the Jedi are dying. And if you really love me, you’ll let me die, too.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah, thank you so much for being patient with me! I'm back and ready to double down on the misery and ridiculousness of our favorite idiots! Thank you for all the well wishes and support these past few months, they really have meant the world to me! <3

It’s easy - too easy - to get Obi-Wan back onto Jango’s ship. They’re at red alert, klaxons blaring as troops move into position, readying themselves for an attack. The 3rd Systems Army is less than a parsec away, giving them mere seconds, not minutes to scramble into action should the Republic attack.

Jango keeps his hand on Obi-Wan’s elbow and closes his panic behind durasteel walls. This isn’t the Republic. It _can’t_ be the Republic. Why would they launch an attack without their most decorated General? Why would Cody turn on Obi-Wan? Why would _any_ of the men?

_The Jedi are dying._ That’s what Obi-Wan said.

Even if the orders came from the Senate, if they went over Obi-Wan’s head... he _knows_ Cody would hold his fire. They’re loyal, yes, but they have their own minds. Jango’s _seen_ it. They wouldn’t turn on the _jetii_. Kriff, they _can’t_ turn on them. Jango trained them to serve the _jetii_. To serve the Republic...

Boba sticks close to his side, his dark eyes wide and wet as he watches the flurry of movement around them. Every few steps, he turns to Obi-Wan, who isn’t so much worrying Jango with his compliance as he is frightening the absolute fuck out of him.

As they make their way towards the bridge, they’re joined with a quiet, pointed fluidity by Irre and the Royal Guard, and the part of Jango that bristles at their presence is drowned out by the rational advantages they present. For all that it pains him, Jango doesn’t have the capacity to keep the kind of watchful eye on his son that Boba needs in order to be kept out of trouble. Not and figure out what in the hells is happening with Obi-Wan.

“ _Alor_!” Their presence is announced as they step onto the bridge. Bo Katan has beaten them there and she waits patiently with the highest-ranked Generals in the army.

“Any sign of the Republic?” he asks her, pulling Obi-Wan forward and pushing him down into one of the few empty chairs. He sits easily, languidly, and not for the first time Jango questions just how much of him is present and how much is... elsewhere.

It looks a lot like shock, but Jango has _seen_ Obi-Wan in shock before, and he’s a bastard with it. This quiet docility screams in its wrongness.

“They’re holding for now,” Bo Katan shakes her head. “We can patch a comm through or we can blow them out of-” she trails off at the shark jerk of Jango’s head, “no, right, diplomacy it is.” She turns on her heel and makes for the communications station, but not before indicating the General closest. “Cressida Cassin, your spymaster.”

“You have word from Coruscant?” Jango demands. He’s read reports from Cassin, but not seen her in full _beskar’gam_ before. She doesn’t look any bigger in the armor than she does out of it, but since she seems to know which direction Jango likes to brush his teeth, he’s not about to cross her, size be damned.

“ _Alor_. From Coruscant, and elsewhere. It’s all over the net. The Republic’s Army has turned on the _jetiise.”_

“All of them?” Jango asks, horror closing tightly around his throat. That confirms what Obi-Wan said, but it makes no _sense_. “Why? _How?”_

“We don’t know yet. We will.” She sounds confident, but Jango is less sure. If the _jetii_ are under attack then there’s little likelihood of them being free to take a quick comm, and since Jango is technically in the precursor to an invasion against the Republic then there’s even less chance they will find a friendly ear there. Especially not if... kriff, if they think Mandalore is somehow involved.

He rounds on the closest soldier. “Where are the prisoners being held?” The prisoners. His sons.

“Deck Four, aft.”

Bo Katan, down on the lower deck with a comms officer working diligently to establish a line to Obi-Wan’s Fleet, raises her head and calls after him as he turns to leave. “You don’t want to talk to them now?”

Jango shakes his head. They won’t have the answers he needs. “Try to make contact with Senator Amidala of Naboo. Wait for my return.” Anakin’s wife is really the only hope he has for reaching a friendly ear. Or if not friendly, at least rational. She’s not quite Satine’s level of pacifist, but she’s a voice of reason.

“What about him?” She jerks her head towards Obi-Wan, who hasn’t moved an inch. The long lines of his lashes flutter in time with the silent parting of his lips. Obi-Wan _really_ isn’t here. Jango doesn’t know where he is and he’s not about to try to find out. He’s got the psychic talent of a brick and this is so far out of his area of expertise it hurts. If the _jetii_ are under attack, it stands to reason that Obi-Wan is trying to do something about it.

Or that he’s under his own attack from the likes of Maul.

Either awful possibility still manages to trump the broken-hearted, betrayed look he’d worn earlier.

Jango will have to deal with the fact that his husband genuinely believes him capable of participating in the mass murder of his people at some point. If they don’t all die first. He’s going to have to deal with a lot of things if they don't all die first.

“He stays here,” Jango says sternly, overriding the aching need he has not to let Obi-Wan out of his sight. “And he doesn’t leave.”

The Royal Guard, without any instruction from Jango, splinter. Half remain on the bridge with Boba and Obi-Wan, the other half follow him.

* * *

Cody is awake when Jango steps into his cell. Awake, and awaiting orders.

It’s hard to tell just how much Cody fucks with Jango sometimes, his obedience the perfect mask for the intense hatred Jango inspires in him.

It’s hard. Or it was. Jango’s getting better at reading him and Cody is getting worse at hiding it.

Not now, though. There’s no need.

Everything that makes Cody _Cody_ is missing.

Jango settles into a parade rest in front of him and removes his _buy’ce_. “Report,” he orders, finding that part of himself that flourished on Kamino and drawing it out to the surface.

“Mission unsuccessful,” Cody replies in a flat, toneless voice. “Target remains at large.”

That’s... _target_... Jango’s heart races in his ears, but he forces himself to remain expressionless.

Cody might not be willing - or able - to respond to him as _Jango_ , but the protocols established all those years ago in his youth are still functional. That gives Jango leverage, and it’s not like Cody can hate him any more than he already does.

“Identify target,” Jango demands.

“Classified.” He sounds more droid than man, and nothing like the boy Jango has come to know and love so dearly.

There’s no question that something is wrong, something more than a simple miscommunication or shift in mission loyalties. Someone has done something to his boy - to all his boys, possibly - and Jango is going to kriffing kill them for it.

Cody’s target might be classified, but Jango already knows who it is. He needs to _hear_ Cody say it. He needs to hear Cody admit that he’s just tried to murder Obi-Wan, a man who is both brother and father to him, and who Cody has been willing - and at times depressingly eager - to die for in order to protect.

“Who gave you the orders?” Jango demands instead.

“Classified.”

Kriffing... no. No, it’s _not_ classified. Not from him. He might not’ve made the boys in the traditional sense, but they are his blood and his bones and he trained them. He wrote the literal manual.

And he’s not stupid. Foolish, perhaps, and a bastard. No one will argue with that. But Jango knows better than to take anyone at their word, especially a _jetii_.

You don’t offer your DNA to build an army of super-soldiers without taking out some insurance. If one of his clones is ever sent to kill him, sent to cut any loose ends that might lead back to Kamino and Tyranus... well, they’ll not find it an easy kill.

“Command override five-seven-fifteen.” There’s no visible shift in Cody’s expression or posture. “Who gave the order?”

“Chancellor Palpatine, sir,” Cody replies promptly.

That... that doesn’t make sense. “Palpatine? _Palpatine_ ordered you to kill Obi-Wan?”

“The Chancellor issued Order 66,” Cody answers. “All traitors to the Republic are to be summarily executed.”

“Since when is _Obi-Wan_ a traitor to the Republic?” Jango demands. This is insane... utterly insane. And beyond terrifying.

Eyes the exact shade and shape of his own look at him unblinkingly. Is he even Cody anymore? Is Cody even alive? What have they done to him?

What has Jango done? What has he allowed to happen to his boys?

“He’s a Jedi,” Cody says, as if that’s the only reason that matters.

And it is, if... oh, kriffing hells...

“Watch him!” Jango barks at the guards, already spinning on his heel and racing from the cell. Cody is safe. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but safe. No one can hurt him, and he can’t be made to hurt anyone else. It’s the most Jango can do for him right now.

Irre, racing on his heels, barks out orders to clear the halls as they rush towards the bridge. She doesn’t need to bother: people dive out of Jango’s way long before he reaches them.

As they burst onto the bridge, Jango’s eyes first move to Obi-Wan, who is resting quietly on his knees with his eyes closed, then immediately seek out Bo Katan. “Call the retreat,” he shouts, drawing all movement on the bridge to an abrupt standstill.

She freezes, a hand outstretched. “ _Alor_?”

“It’s a fucking trap,” Jango spits. “The Sith they’ve been hunting is Chancellor fucking Palpatine. The whole kriffing war is a set-up.”

The weight and impact of his words hit hard as the implications start to sink in. They’re too big, too horrifying to grasp in such a short amount of time, but this is one arena in which Jango is an expert, and now the last piece of the puzzle is in place, he sees the whole picture in a dazzling, dizzying light.

If Palpatine is their mysterious Sith, that makes Tyrans - Dooku - his apprentice. And it makes his hiring of _Jango_ of all people a clear part of a long planed and manipulated timeline. It makes _him_ as much of a weapon as his boys, and the only way to redress that wrong is to pull the breaks.

Jango feels sick.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s soft voice echoes like cannon fire in the stunned silence. “I must get to Anakin.”

Obi-Wan rises gracefully to his knees, his eyes clear and focused. He lets a gentle hand brush over Boba’s shoulder before he steps forward and joins Jango.

“I didn’t know,” Jango whispers brokenly. “I swear on my mother’s bones, I knew nothing about any of-” he trails into a broken silence as Obi-Wan presses warm fingers to his lips. If he truly believes Jango has played an active part in this, if he believes for a second that Jango might willingly betray him to the _Sith_ , he’ll find the first airlock and throw himself out of it.

“I know,” he says, tears bright in his eyes. “Forgive me. I know.”

Jango can’t weep. Not here. Not now. But he wants to. “I would never hurt you like that, I would never hurt the boys like that, I swear...”

“It’s alright, Jango,” Obi-Wan takes his gloved hand and raises it to his lips. “I know your heart, stubborn though it is. This evil is the Sith’s making, not yours.”

“Are the _jetii_ really...” there was a time when he’d’ve rejoiced at the news; now, his heart grows cold with dread. He’s fought with them, laughed with them, bled with them. The monsters of Galidraan have faded back into shadows cast against a wall by Death Watch’s lies, leaving only the flickering flames of the _jetii_ he knows and respects. When he thinks of them, he doesn’t think of the warriors he cut down in battle or the people they killed in return; he thinks of the children on Jabiim, so small and so brave, standing between their men and an insurmountable army. They embraced death without fear, only the faintest hope of preserving another’s life. Jango couldn’t save them, and fears that history will repeat itself.

And what of Anakin and Ahsoka? He is their father as much as Obi-Wan is Boba’s. He’s... well he supposes he might be Ahsoka’s grandfather, though he’s not sure he’s willing to embrace that title as quickly. Do they live?

The idea that _his_ sons are out there, hunting down Obi-Wan’s family...

In all his many years of hate, he’s never burned with it the way he burns now. He feels he might be consumed by the dark flames, might die if he allows Palpatine to live even a moment longer.

“What do we do?” he asks, hoping, praying, that Obi-Wan will have the answers.

“I must find Anakin,” Obi-Wan says immediately. “He is in grave danger.”

“We’ll take Slave I,” Jango says, already making the calculations. “We’ll have a better chance of making it past the 3rd undetected.” There’s no question that they want to avoid any kind of engagement right now.

“Not us, Jango, I,” Obi-Wan shakes his head regretfully. “Stay with your people. Try and help Cody and the others, if you can.”

“I’m not letting you fight the Sith alone!” Jango explodes. “In case you’ve not noticed, four million people want you dead right now!”

“I won’t be going alone,” Obi-Wan promises, “but you will be a liability I simply cannot afford.”

Jango flinches back, furious and hurting. A _liability_?

Surprisingly, it’s Boba who speaks next. “They’ll use you to hurt him,” the boy says quietly, “like they used me.”

The way Obi-Wan looks at Boba is somehow both everything Jango has wanted for his family and the tipping point of his heartbreak. When Obi-Wan looks back at Jango, it is with an unspoken plea for trust.

And while Jango hates it, Boba is right. Obi-Wan, when fighting on his own terms, when fighting for someone he loves... he’s unbeatable.

“Who will you take with you?” Who is even left?

Obi-Wan grimaces, then hands a comm code over to Bo Katan, who passes it off for connection.

It takes only moments before the call is answered, at which point Jango bitterly regrets not knocking his husband unconscious and dragging him back to Mandalore.

Asajj Ventress curls her thin grey lips into a coy little smile. “Obi-Wan! I’ve missed you!”


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like to read while listening to music, I highly recommend 'Start A War' by Klergy. It'll set the tone for the rest of this arc :D

Anakin desperately wants to go back in time and punch Qui-Gon in the face.

 _Focus on the here and now. Dreams are just dreams. Be mindful of the present_. All things Obi-Wan has drilled into Anakin over the years, all things he himself was drip-fed by his Master. Yet Anakin has walked the hallways of Obi-Wan’s mind and seen the face of his trauma manifested in a way so horrifying and nauseating that he’s been _thankful_ it was just that: trauma. Fear. Pain.

And now it is a reality. Now, just as Obi-Wan’s mind had burned, so too does the Temple.

Anakin can only watch, a thousand - ten thousand - minds across the galaxy crying out in fear and confusion. He feels their lights flicker and die, swallowed whole by a universe that suddenly feels cold and full of hatred. It sends him to his knees, his mind raw and screaming, overwhelmed and overloaded. And with those extinguished lights comes another kind of death.

Rex is dead.

He still breathes, but his mind, his _soul_ , has vanished into a terrifying abyss. Along with his brothers, where once lived millions of individual, beautiful beings within the Force, there is now only a singularity. A blank space. If it’s not death, Anakin doesn’t know how else to define it.

It combines in a way he’s completely unprepared for. The Living Force, the very life energy that pulses in his veins, recoils from him in agony and that which has always made him strong and powerful, leaves him wide open to attack.

He’s aware, vaguely, of Mace nearby. Equally, he knows Padmé is close. He knows they are fighting something or someone, but the hows and the whats and the whys are beyond his ability to understand.

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. And the galaxy is in so much pain that he might die from it. He thinks he wants to. This is beyond anything he’s ever endured in the past. It’s too _much_. He can’t...

_“Anakin.”_

He can’t even hold himself up on his knees. There’s blood in his mouth, in his ears, in his eyes and it hurts. They’re dying and he can feel it and it won’t stop.

_“Anakin, listen to my voice. Hear me... hear me...”_

As a boy, he found it so hard to fit into life in the Temple, found it so impossible to be surrounded by people whose minds can respond to his in the same way he does to theirs. That bombardment of his senses has always been a focal point in his struggles, one Obi-Wan has valiantly tried and spectacularly failed to help him overcome. Obi-Wan’s connection to the Force is different. Not wrong, he knows that now, and not less, but more subtle than the _loudbrightpowerwarmth_ of Anakin’s own.

Oh, Obi-Wan can shelter his mind and often does, but Anakin’s never been able to do it for himself. That failure is what’s killing him now. It must be. He must be dying. He can’t possibly hurt like this and survive... he doesn’t _want_ to.

He tries to do as he did as a child - tries to find his way to Obi-Wan and burrow himself in the safety of his steady Light. It still shines; his Master isn’t dead, not yet, but Anakin is in no shape to protect him. Either he makes it to Obi-Wan in time to die with their minds and souls entwined, or he loses himself in the search. Either beats the alternative of returning to his own body and his own pain.

In the end, Obi-Wan finds him. Across time and space, across lightyears, and across that short, glowing thread of their bond, Anakin falls and Obi-Wan catches.

He doesn’t have form the way Anakin did when entering his mind, but there’s no question that it is him.

Strong hands grab him under the arms and start to drag him across the floor of the Senate. Not Mace and not one of the clones. He can’t feel anything from the person pulling him away from the fight, and that’s...that’s wrong, isn’t it? He should sense something. Anything. He tries to pull away, tries to reach out with the Force, but only ends up screaming in agony as another light is torn from his mind.

Ahsoka. Where’s Ahsoka? Where is his Padawan?

_“We’ll find her. You must find your center. You must focus, Anakin.”_

Obi-Wan’s Light flickers, pained, before surging back with greater strength and driving a barrier between Anakin’s flayed senses and the rest of the Galaxy.

'I can’t!’” The arms pulling him still for just a moment.

Obi-Wan’s presence flickers and threatens to fade. Anakin grabs a tight hold and sinks psychic fingers in deep. It hurts both of them but allows Anakin to draw his Master closer.

And it allows Obi-Wan to do what Anakin once did for him.

Maul and Ventress both forced their way into Obi-Wan’s mind, shredding his defenses and leaving him vulnerable. This is a different kind of attack, but the results are the same: Anakin is defenseless, and he feels something cold and dark and hopeless start to seep into his unguarded soul.

The hands that dragged him from the fight continue to pull him deeper into the halls of the Senate. He’s being separated from everyone who can help him - and who need his help. Friend or foe, he doesn’t yet know, but it’s clear they think him alone.

He’s not alone. Not now.

Even the High Council can’t explain the strength of his connection to Obi-Wan. Every record, every experience they have tells them that Anakin and Obi-Wan shouldn’t have as strong a bond as they do, but no matter what they say, it’s real.

The second Obi-Wan was free of the Sith mask, Anakin felt him. He felt his pain and his torment and his relief at touching the Force after so long, and he felt it across the entire kriffing Galaxy. A hundred billion lifeforms stood between them, and Anakin still found him.

Obi-Wan isn’t even all the way on Mandalore. He’s less than a handful of parsecs away.

And he doesn’t wait for Anakin to find his way through the pain. The second it becomes clear that Anakin _can’t_ function in the face of such turmoil in the Force, Obi-Wan wraps himself around Anakin’s besieged mind and turns himself into a shield. He can’t block out the pain entirely, he’s not that strong, but his presence mutes it. It pushes enough space between Anakin’s mind and the unfolding horror for him to recover his senses.

And he doesn’t need long once he starts.

All his life, he’s craved power. Not for its own sake. Not for pleasure or to inflict pain. No, he needs to be powerful because to be weak, to be vulnerable, is to allow others to be hurt. It’s to be helpless in the face of their pain.

The last year has changed that. War has changed that. War, and Jango Fett.

And Obi-Wan, who makes it safe for him to be vulnerable, and whose unending string of misery and hurt has been a harsh lesson in the realities of what truly constitutes as power.

It’s not about who has the greater skill or ability. It’s not about strength or prowess.

It’s about endurance.

And it’s about coming back swinging when you hit rock bottom.

Right now, Anakin can’t imagine anything lower than the deaths of his entire people. His _family_.

 _“Balance, Anakin!”_ Obi-Wan calls to him.

That’s Anakin’s job, isn’t it? His whole reason for being, if the prophecy is to believed.

He exists to bring Balance to the Force.

Right now the Force is drowning in darkness. With every life stolen, it slips further and further into that sinking emptiness.

 _"Balance_."

He’s supposed to bring Balance.

With a great cry, he shoves out with his body and mind in unison. The hands dragging him vanish as his assailant is thrown across the room and he finally cracks that nothingness in their presence to feel someone both horribly familiar and utterly unknown.

With his shields in place and with Obi-Wan still standing between him and the encroaching darkness, the truth finally reveals itself.

The betrayal he feels as he pushes himself to his feet is breathtaking. As is Obi-Wan’s anger.

“Chancellor Palpatine.”

The man who once called himself Anakin’s only friend raises his head, the look on his face somewhere between resigned and sorrowful. “I had truly hoped we had more time, my boy,” he says, shaking his head. “I had thought to make this easier for you.”

The words can barely form shape in his mouth. “You’re the Sith Master.”

“And you are the Chosen One.”

His lightsaber is in his hand before he even registers reaching for it - a nudge from Obi-Wan and a boost of stamina born from his Master’s rage.

“Yeah,” Anakin bares his teeth and settles into a stance he has been perfecting for over a decade. “I am.”


	54. Chapter 54

After delivering his crippling blow to Jango’s heart, Obi-Wan quietly turns and leaves the bridge. No one stops him. No one even tries. He’s Mand’alor in spirit, if not in name, both by merit of his marriage to Jango and his victory in the arena. The _ori'ramikade_ have a strict hierarchy they follow, and unless Jango explicitly orders them to, they will not move against Obi-Wan.

It leaves Jango standing there, helpless and angry, with only a vague idea of what to do _next._

 _“Get me answers,”_ he barks to Bo Katan. She’s already on it: _Mando’ade_ don’t like jetii and probably won’t mourn their loss, but they’ve always adhered to the ‘better the enemy you know’ policy. This uncertainty is frightening in its implications. Jango leaves her to it and marches off the bridge.

“Dad!” The complete inability to shelter his son from _anything_ is a pain Jango’s incapable of acknowledging right now. Not when there is a brig full of empty, soulless shells several decks below their feet. “Dad!!

Boba runs after him. Jango is marching, but even then it's a struggle for the boy to overtake him. He doesn’t manage it until they hit the lifts, which is when he slams his palm down on the controls and forces the door to remain open. The scowl he levels on Jango is one that’s he’s clearly perfected under Obi-Wan’s tutelage.

“Not now, Boba,” Jango shakes his head. “Please.”

“You can’t stop him leaving!” Boba shouts at him. It seems an eternity has passed in these few shorts months and the time when Boba looked at him with only awe and hero-worship has long since passed. Jango has taken a nose dive off his pedestal, and Boba has grown far older than his tender years merit.

“I’m not going to,” he admits heavily. “You’re right.” It’s impossible not to look at his son and think back to when he was that age. All of the many horrors Jango has endured in his life, and his inability to stop history from repeating somehow hits the hardest. Boba is supposed to grow up safe and loved and with a stability Jango only briefly tasted. Instead, he’s been dragged into the very heart of an imploding supernova.

His agreement is clearly not what Boba seems to be expecting. “You’re not?”

“No, _ad’ika_ ,” Jango promises. “I can’t help him. Not like this.” Twenty years ago, perhaps, back when he was less experienced and even more foolish, he might’ve tried. The man he was, so desperately, hopelessly in love with Obi-Wan, would’ve wanted to fight beside him, even if that meant his death. The closest he’s been to that man was on Jabiim. As soul-destroying as that night had been, Jango chose to live - for Boba, and for the boys - and in doing so has proven to himself that he _can_ live in a world where Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. He can do it again if he must. His heart will never heal, but he will live. The simplicity - and freedom - to die for love is beyond him now. He is a father. He is _Mand’alor_.

Duty, first. Always. For both of them.

“You can help Cody?” Boba asks him, his voice holding only the hint of a question. He’ll accept nothing but a solution, and if Jango isn’t capable of finding it, Boba clearly has every intention of figuring it out himself.

“I can try,” Jango promises, resting a hand on Boba’s shoulder.

His son looks up at him, and for the first time, Jango truly sees himself in his son’s eyes. “We can save them.”

Jango squeezes his shoulder as they reach the hanger bay and barely catches Obi-Wan before he boards his ship. Sensing their presence, Obi-Wan hesitates and turns to look back. His warn, haggard expression is pinched and set, his shoulders automatically tensing in anticipation of a fight he’s too exhausted to face.

If Boba makes it so easy to put himself back in the early days of his life, then looking at Obi-Wan now just reminds him of everything they’ve endured. Obi-Wan looks older than Jango feels. The bright-eyed, fresh-faced, sweetly smiling boy has hollowed out and hardened. Jango wears his scars on his face for the world to see. Obi-Wan wears them in the lines around his eyes and the prematurely white hair at his temple. He’s still a handful of years off forty, but the past few months show themselves starkly in the sharp lines of his face.

“I’m no here to stop you,” Jango calls out before Obi-Wan can get the wrong impression.

The reassurance counts for little. “If you’re here to say goodbye -” Obi-Wan’s gaze is grief-stricken.

Joining him on the landing pad, Jango extends his hand and waits for Obi-Wan to accept one final gift. “We'll find each other in that damned Force of yours,” he promises, gruff and choked. “There are no goodbyes between us, _ne’dee_.”

Obi-Wan stares at his hand. Shakes his head. “I can’t take that.”

“It’s yours by right,” Jango presses. “You’re leaving to fight a Sith. You need a weapon he won’t see coming.” The Darksaber settles into Obi-Wan’s palm, fitting the curl of his fingers as though it was made with him in mind, ten thousand years ago. “When he thinks he’s beaten you,” Jango commands him, “you put this through his fucking heart.”

Obi-Wan pulls him sharply forward and says farewell in a way that transcends words. His kiss is hard and bruising and far too brief. When it’s over, he rests his head against Jango’s. “Save our boys,” he commands.

“On my honor,” Jango promises.

“Then it will be done,” Obi-Wan whispers. He has always had such _faith_ in Jango. “And I will wait for you joyfully.” In this world, or another.

He doesn’t yet step out of Jango’s arms, but he does turn his head to look at Boba. “It has been the delight of my life getting to know you, _ad’ika_.”

Boba scowls through his tears and shakes his head. There’s little he can say. Obi-Wan’s continued presence in their lives has been a miracle neither have taken for granted and now the universe demands payment.

“You’re not alone, _ne’dee_ ,” Jango whispers fiercely. “When you face him, you fight with every _jetii_ who has joined the Force,” he grips Obi-Wan’s arm sharply and forces eye contact, “and you fight with every _Mando’ad_ who marches ahead. No matter how much of this world he burns, the dead will have their way. And they will have your back.”

“ _Ret'urcye mhi, kair’ta.”_ Obi-Wan brushes the tips of his fingers across Jango’s lips. Jango captures them in his hand and holds him in place, kissing them softly and bestowing all of the love his aching, jaded heart has to give. Hoping it will be enough. Hoping that warmth will guide Obi-Wan when the world is darkest.

“ _Ne’dee_ ,” Jango breathes out and allows himself one final touch of Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Go. May the Force be with you.”

He doubts there has been a Mando in ten thousand words to say those words to a _jetii_ and mean them with every fiber of their heart. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what it means.

The love in Obi-Wan's eyes will be the look he holds to his heart until his dying breath. It will be the look he searches for in Mando.

“May the Force be with you, my love.”

And then he leaves, taking the last Light in the Galaxy with him.

They stay and watch as the shuttle vanishes into the depths of space, then Jango turns and goes down on one knee before Boba. He rests his hands on his son’s narrow shoulders and steadies them both. “Boba, I must ask too much of you.”

Boba’s stubbornness far outstrips Jango’s own. His compassion, too. “I’ll do anything,” he says, straightening his back and raising his chin. “No one messes with our family.”

He doesn’t ask Jango if Obi-Wan will be okay. If he'll be back. They’re all beyond that.

“No,” Jango nods. “They don’t.”

* * *

The cell door slides open silently. Boba doesn’t hesitate before stepping inside. Two _ori'ramikade_ follow, their blasters set to stun and raised to shoot.

Cody won’t attack them. He didn’t attack Boba. Not until Boba got between him and Obi-Wan. Not until Boba got his hands on his own weapon and moved to defend his _buir_. Then Cody attacked. Then they all attacked.

Ballsy’s dead because Boba shot him. Boba shot him because Obi-Wan was too busy trying not to kill Cody to protect himself from a shot to the back of the head. A Cody... Cody is the clone of a man who killed six _jetii_ with his bare hands. Genetically enhanced and trained from birth to be the ultimate machine of death.

And because someone did something to him and the others. Someone turned the boisterous, animated, playful Ballsy into a weapon to be pulled on a man he _adored_.

They turned _Cody_ , whose loyalty to Obi-Wan was weighed against a lifetime of torture and manipulation and still came out in favor of the _jetii_.

Boba wants the people responsible _dead_ , and he’s going to see it happen.

A firm shove sends him sprawling forwards. It’s hard, but not cruel, and Boba plays it up for effect.

The _ori'ramikade_ close the door behind themselves as they leave. It’s just Boba and Cody. Alone.

His heart pounding in his ears, Boba sits beside Cody on the bunk, his back equally as straight.

He thinks about Obi-Wan, facing up to Maul, chained and bleeding and at every disadvantage, but unflinchingly in control of the situation. Boba tries to replicate that cool confidence.

“Mission successful,” he says, his voice soft and flat. “Target eliminated.”


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Order 66 nastiness & Ventress's brand of mind-fuckery

_Good soldiers follow orders._

Rex’s memories of Kamino vary. Most are mundane. Many are positive, especially ones of his brothers. He has a back-catalogue of times he’d sneak out of his dorm and into Cody’s. Bly would whisper the best stories, and Wolffe would ruthlessly tease Fox, and Cody would pretend to be annoyed at Rex’s presence, but never say a word when used as a pillow. He remembers pretending to be asleep while Cody was carrying him back to his bunk one night. Cody has always been that beacon of safety, always so sure, always so steady. There’s never been a problem his brother can’t fix.

Except maybe this one.

After dozens of near-misses and endless hours worrying at Cody’s bedside when he’s been injured, there’s a small part of Rex that prays Cody is already dead. Dead, and spared this horror, or stronger than the rest of them combined, and somehow capable of seizing his body back from the entity that’s controlling them. If anyone can, it’s Cody.

His brother is with Obi-Wan right now. If they’ve made Cody do to his General what they’re making the rest of them do to the other Jedi, there won’t be anything left of him to save if and when this is done.

_Good soldiers follow orders._

There have been times in battle, in the very early days, back when he was still a shiny himself, where it’s felt as though he’s been a stranger in his own body, watching. Aware of his actions but oddly removed from them.

This is not like that.

There’s blood on his visor, more in the gaps between the plates of his gloves. He’s killed people. Jedi. His commanding officers. His _friends_.

The Senate burns and the world is oddly quiet outside the echo chamber of his own head.

_Good soldiers follow orders._

Opposite him, Fox stands equally bloody. He stares right into his brother’s armored face, remembers the child who pouted so furiously when teased, and imagines he’s screaming as loud as Rex is.

The room is full of brothers. Bodies have been stacked neatly against the walls, perfectly ordered and regimented. Some are Jedi, most are civilian. There’s the odd politician in there too, dead-eyed and betrayed.

Rex lost track of General Windu early in the fight. He’s not here among the dead, and Rex prays the revered Jedi has survived. He doubts it, though.

There’s only one living Jedi in the room with them now and Rex’s head is screaming with the instinct to put a blaster bolt between his eyes.

Traitors. Traitors, all of them. Especially this one.

Anakin is his brother as much as Boba is.

Rex wants to kill him. He wants to save him. He _wants_...

_Good soldiers follow orders._

Any hope that Anakin might save _them_ died after the first hour of watching him writhe and scream on the ground, his body wracked and twisted by lightening. Now, Anakin is quiet, conscious but barely, surrounded by his own men, their weapons drawn and aimed at his head.

“Captain Rex.” Rex has met with the Supreme Chancellor before and he's never looked like _this_. His feet move him forward. “My new apprentice requires some encouragement.” He steps over Anakin, his long robe trailing a line of blood behind him. “Your men are making good progress at the Temple. Join them, and bring me what is left of Ahsoka Tano.”

“D-n’t,” Anakin slurs, trying to push himself off the ground and falling back down with a cry as the Chancellor throws a lazy torrent of lightning towards him.

“Yes sir,” Rex says, even as he screams his denial. His voice is calm and even and he sounds so _normal_.

If he goes to the Temple, if he joins the rest of the 501st...

Most of the Council are off-planet. Generals Windu and Yoda are missing. General Kenobi is... and reports have already come in from battalions across the Galaxy. Bly and Wolffe have killed their Generals already. Ponds killed his forteen-year-old Commander with his bare hands.

“Go now. Do not fail me, Captain.”

Rex salutes the man orchestrating the genocide of the Jedi, turns his back on his brothers, on Anakin, who Rex is supposed to protect with his own life, and steps out into the blood-soaked, smouldering halls of the butchered heart of the Republic.

_Good soldiers follow orders._

* * *

It’s been long enough since the initial battle that much of the Senate now lays in darkness. The clones have taken control of the upper levels, along with all exits and the docks. There are two levels in the middle of the building currently blockaded by survivors, but with the entire might of Fox’s men hammering down on them, they won’t last much longer.

Rex wants to help them. He steps around the fallen body of a young Jedi Knight, nauseous with the battle between wanting to spit on his treacherous corpse and weep over his murder.

The thing inside his head has already taken control of his body. How much longer before it takes his whole mind as well? How much longer before he feels the same scorn for his brothers that he know feels for his Jedi?

Death would be kinder. The first chance he gets. The first _hint_ that he might be able to wrestle back control...

He takes the lifts down to the lower levels and steps out into a floor that’s consumed by darkness. Even the emergency lights are out, and it’s only through the night vision of his visor that he’s able to navigate the debris-strewn ground.

The flash of a lightsaber draws his attention, temporarily blinding him. He turns sharply, weapon raised, but the light that cuts through the darkness is not blue or green or the golden yellow glow of the Temple Guards. It’s red. From the shadows, a woman’s voice calls out with a cackle of sadistic glee. “Hello, little clone. Remember me?”

_Good soldiers follow orders._

Already trapped inside his mind, Rex can only watch himself stumble as his body reacts on instinct, memories of his time after Jabiim colliding with the walls of his invisible prison.

_Good soldiers follow -_

_“_ You should’ve taken me up on my offer when you had the chance.”

Her voice seems to be coming from the darkness itself. He can hear his breathing hitch, his lungs burning even as his body struggles to override a source of fear it doesn’t understand.

“Show yourself!”

“Come and find me!” Her laugh fades away.

_Good soldiers follow orders._

He has a job to do. Orders to carry out. His body turns, even as he screams himself hoarse inside his mind. If there’s anyone capable of stopping him, it’s _her_. As much as he fears being back in that cell, left at the mercy of her droids, _this_ is torture far, far worse than anything she did to him. He’ll take it. Maybe, if he’s lucky, she’ll kill him just like she promised.

Rex isn’t nieve enough to think the freedom she offered was anything other than a swift death.

Before he can even raise his weapon, Asajj Ventress looms from the dark and knocks it from his hands. Rex feels the fibers of his mind start to fray as he throws everything he has left into _not_ fighting her, and almost weeps in relief as he’s picked up by invisible hands and thrown into the closest wall with enough force to make his bones ache.

“Hardly the subtlety I’d expect from the Dark Lord of the Sith,” Ventress muses, lazily stalking towards him the same way she did in that cell: all predator, toying with her captured prey. “But effective enough, I suppose.” Her hands slide under his chin, unfastening his helmet and throwing it aside. “Poor thing,” she coos, “you really never stood a chance.”

The _thing_ controlling his body just appeared out of nowhere and took over from inside his own mind. Ventress doesn’t have that access, for all of her tricks and for all Rex’s fear of her. She’s on the outside, looking in on a picture Rex can only imagine as all of his nightmares collide.

Cool hands reach up to rest on either side of his head, cradling his cheeks almost tenderly. “This will hurt,” she warns with a sharp smile, “but I seem to remember you rather enjoying that in the past.”

He can’t move his body with or without her powers. All he can do is try and relax his mind. If it hurts, so be it, but let it _end_.

“None of that, now,” Ventress tutts, “it’s no fun if you _let_ me in.”

His vision goes _red_. Not in a sudden explosion, not the way it went dark back in the Senate, but as if there is blood slowly creeping across his vision. His head hurts in a way he can’t define - the pressure of a vice squeezing from the outside, and a thousand knives raking against the inside of his skull. The blood in his eyes drips down across his lips and his tongue darts out to lick it away, base instinct overriding control of both her power and thing inside him. It takes a second through the pain to realize _what_ he’s done, and then the scream that’s been ringing inside his head ever since he woke up a prisoner of his own mind _tears_ itself from his throat.

“Yes,” Ventress purrs, her eyes closing in concentration, “good boy.”

He doesn’t care if that’s giving in to what she wants. After his enforced silence, the freedom to cry out is a blessing he grabs a desperate hold of. Ventress’s expression deepens into a frown. She tightens her hold on his head, and Rex screams until his throat burns and his vision dances and his whole body thrashes against her, vying for freedom.

He raises his arms - _he_ raises his arms - and shoves at her, the effort weak and uncoordinated. The blood in his mouth tastes thick now, his eyes and nose streaming as he chokes, his scream slowly dying out into a sob.

“Ventress, stop!”

Her hands leave him and she steps away. Unable to support himself, Rex feels his body slowly sliding down the wall before he pitches forwards and finds himself swept up in strong arms. He sees a Jedi’s robes through the blurred red of his vision and whimpers painfully.

Please. Please let them kill him. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone... he doesn’t want...

“Rex! Rex, it’s alright. It’s alright, I won’t hurt you!”

He can feel the hands trying to clear away the blood on his face, feel them stroking over his hair even as he’s lowered to the ground and cradled against a warm body. He tries to open his mouth, tries to say that it’s not _himself_ he’s afraid for, but only a pained gasp leaves his lips. Terrified he’s already lost that brief, glorious moment of control, Rex flails out with his arms, panic choking him.

“Rex, _ad’ika_...”

He stills. He knows that voice. There’s only one person alive who calls him that, and Rex _swore_ to Cody that he’d keep him safe.

“ _Buir_?”

Obi-Wan’s steady hand closes over his forehead and he tries not to flinch. “What have they done to you?”

“You’re welcome,” Ventress says from over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Rex tenses, flexing his fingers, clinging onto control for fear of losing it again, and tries to put her in his sight. When she looms into view, Obi-Wan holds Rex tighter, but he doesn’t move to defend himself from her.

Are they working _together_?

“You’re trying my patience, Ventress,” Obi-Wan growls, not taking his eyes off Rex. “I told you not to hurt anyone.”

“Yes, because that’s practical,” she rolls her eyes. “Need I remind you why we’re here?”

Rex grasps desperately at Obi-Wan’s arm. “Anakin-” he chokes, trying to force the words past his bruised throat.

“I know,” Obi-Wan assures him. “I will find him.”

“The Chancellor-”

Something furious flashes through the calmness in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Hush, dear one. You must rest.”

Fuck that. Fuck that, and fuck Obi-Wan if he thinks for a second that Rex is going to _roll over_. His body is _his_ again, for however long it lasts, and Rex is going to use it to tear a bloody path through the ones who have done this to them.

“Kenobi!” Ventress demands. “If we could pick up the pace-”

“Help me up,” Rex demands, clutching at Obi-Wan’s arms.

“I don’t think-”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, sir,” Rex tries to joke. It falls flat, at least with Obi-Wan, who only looks pained.

Ventress laughs. “He knows you so well.”

“Fuck you,” Rex fires at her. “And fuck-”

“Alright!” Obi-Wan hauls Rex up to his feet and for a humiliating second, Rex fears he’s either going to pass out or throw up. He fumbles in his belt pouch for a stim and jabs it angrily into his neck.

Adrenaline hits him like a clanker on full speed and the pain melts away. Nothing’s healed, but the parts of his brain that process pain go meek and quiet under the chemical hit.

Kix is going to kill him.

Kix is going to... Kix might be dead.

Rex lifts his blasters and grips them tight. “Give me someone to shoot.”

**Author's Note:**

> beroya - bounty hunter  
> tracinya - flame


End file.
